


A Certain Scientific Voidwalker

by Brosephg



Category: Toaru Kagaku no Railgun | A Certain Scientific Railgun, Toaru Majutsu no Index | A Certain Magical Index
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Frenda Lives, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brosephg/pseuds/Brosephg
Summary: Hamasaki Tsubasa, 'the Voidwalker' is fourth among Academy City's level fives, the strongest of the strongest. Faced with the prospect of acting as a bringer of war and a herald of death, yet desiring the wholesome light of the level zero girl Saten Ruiko in his life, what dire fate awaits them if he revolts against the powers that be? Side story of A Certain Broken Testament.
Relationships: Saten Ruiko & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin, as always, there's a quick disclaimer I'd like to put in place. I do not, in any way, shape or form own, or claim ownership of anything within the franchise(s) written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma. This piece is a non-profit fan-made love letter to the wonderful Toaru Majutsu no Index series; though it brings joy to myself, and hopefully to those who read it, this piece will generate no gain, monetary or otherwise, for me in any way, shape or form. ToAru Majutsu no Index, as well as all characters, settings, situations and terminology (save for original creations of my own) are © Kamachi Kazuma and ASCII Media Works.
> 
> Author's Note: Well, here we are! By the time you're reading this (assuming anyone actually does, that is!) It will have been a little bit since I've last addressed you directly, my wonderful readers. If you'll recall, I'd mentioned the possibility of writing another fanwork based in the universe of 'A Certain Broken Testament'. That's precisely what this is! Partially inspired by previous, scrapped works that didn't quite pan out the way I'd intended, and those that simply didn't pan out at all, this fanwork will prove interesting, I think. Rather than detracting from the narrative of 'A Certain Broken Testament' with the regaling of this story, I've decided to simply write a side story with it. While the events of this fanwork's narrative won't have a lot to do directly with the overall narrative of 'A Certain Broken Testament', it is set within the same continuity. As well, events and goings-on within A Certain Broken Testament's narrative will be referenced and have considerable impact on this fanwork's own narrative.
> 
> Without further preamble, I proudly present, A Certain Scientific Voidwalker!

Academy City.  
February 11th, 2004. 4:35 PM.

Though cramped, the homey little café in Academy City's seventh school district offered an off-the-books location for discussion, used by many for many varying reasons. Its sky-blue booths were accentuated by the soft-coloured, tiled flooring and arching ceiling, from which light fixtures mounted within beamed down gentle, golden-white light.

Crammed into one such booth were two old men who'd looked to have seen better days, and Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker.

"Introductions. This is Nokleben-san. Nokleben-san will be working with us throughout the foreseeable future. He owes Gladio-Oculus a favour, and we'll leave it that," Dave Horton remarked, stirring an empty cup of coffee with a stirring stick to provide his hands something to fidget with.

"My condolences, go ahead and have all of them," Hamasaki Tsubasa grunted in response, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. "This gig sucks. It's the worst. What kind of dirt do they have on you, Nokleben? If you have clean hands, you don't work for Gladio or the Oculus. That simple."

"Level Six Shift project. Security Supervisor, Hamasaki-san."

"Pfft."

Voidwalker leaned back in his seat; his efforts to veil his nervousness with a false, casual front were failing, and he knew it. Truthfully, he would've rather been in Joseph's Coffee & Restaurant with Saten Ruiko, listening to her talk so passionately about her beloved Urban Legends for as long as she sought to talk about them.

Just the thought of her voice was enough to send a tingle rushing upwards, from his stomach and into his throat. It ceased at a pinnacle, leaving him feeling quite lonesome, indeed. A vulnerable position for a level five esper to be in.

"No matter how many times you wash those hands of yours, Nokleben, you won't get _that_ sort of dirt off."

"I know."

Keitz Nokleben's voice was filled – practically dripping with – his own resignation to his destiny. Whatever dark fate found him, he deserved it. He knew it. He'd always known it. A tall, lanky man, his skin was wrinkled; with his swept-back golden-blonde hair and dull, time-worn green eyes, Nokleben looked like some living relic originating from some lost civilization. Unfortunately, no museums were interested in the likes of him.

"So, what's the jig, then, David? Let me take a wild guess. Alright. Here goes. You're looking for quick transport through the Void, to England. No problem… For me."

Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton raised an eyebrow, but didn't immediately respond.

"Void is with me every second of every day. My Personal Reality passively generates it, constantly. I got used to it. You _won't_. Not interacting with it for the first time, so directly. Plus, when I go walking through there, taking the strolls that I do, I'm expected. You're not. That's the long and short of it. There are only so many deals I can strike at one time before suspicions arise."

"We're looking at a prolonged siege in Wales," Horton remarked then, evidently undeterred. "Gladio agents embedded in the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight have sent word that Birdway is on the move again. Plot's thickening. They've been meeting with the Amakusa Christians in some little backwater shithole. Looks like Tsuchimikado was right. Amakusa may have just gone rogue."

The Gladio-Oculus agent rubbed his temples with his fingers, muttering under his breath. Hamasaki Tsubasa moved his glance between both Keitz Nokleben and Dave Horton. Still, he said nothing. Instead, he waited for Horton to begin again, and he did, as expected.

"That's why we need to get this thing under control, immediately. Fucking immediately. Get one of those gates of yours open through your Void, wide enough for Academy City tech to fit through. We can have stealth bombers in the air, enough siege vehicles to knock all of Europe out of the game in twenty-four hours if need be. Tanks, Maser Cannons, we've got the HsPS-14 prototype Powered Armour rolling off the assembly lines. They won't know _what_ hit them."

"Or…"

Tsubasa took a sip from his cheap soda, before setting the bottle down on the rickety little table before him. Still clad in the tight-fitting uniform of Sakugawa High School, he certainly wasn't dressed the part of a scheming Academy City 'G-Man'.

"You could let me handle Birdway. Not all that concerned about the Saint, either… It's the vamp that bothers me. Deep Blood is still off-limits?"

"Yes! Deep Blood was, is, and always will be off-limits!" It took all of Dave Horton's mental might – much of which had already been spent simply trying to dredge himself out of bed – to keep from slamming his fist directly into the rickety table. "Deep Blood is far too valuable to _him_. If a…"

Horton looked over both of his shoulders repeatedly, cautiously. As if expecting to have someone listening in on the conversation, the Gladio-Oculus agent quietly coughed into the sleeve of his cheap, pressed suit jacket.

"… Vampire ever decided to waltz into Academy City, Deep Blood needs to be right here to attract it."

"Checks out. Sorry, David. I'm off the ball this afternoon. Lots going on."

"It's that schoolyard crush of yours again, isn't it, Hamasaki? Get it **TOGETHER**!"

Keitz Nokleben became the voice of reason. Swiftly grabbing Horton's wrist mid-air, he forced the arm downward. Nokleben's gaze locked with that of his fellow operative's own.

"The boy is barely old enough to be away from the schoolyard. Have some compassion. You had a wife, before you blew it, Horton. Try to remember what it was like, being young and in love. It's not easy."

"I know plenty about being old and divorced," Horton grumbled, calming himself with a deep, drawn-out inhalation. "You're going soft, Mr. Security Supervisor."

"Soft? No. I have a family to feed. I've never enjoyed this."

Nokleben leaned back, relaxing, in an effort to promote a sense of calm around the table. At the very least, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper seemed to be keeping his proverbial hat on straight. If Dave Horton had been laying out bait, Tsubasa hadn't risen to take it.

Finally, Academy City's fourth strongest responded to the original inquiry as best as he could.

"I can get it done, David. I'll need exact dimensions for my calculations, and, I'll need a relatively up-to-date representation of the designation for the other side. Otherwise, the rest is on you. So don't screw it up. You get all of that for me, forward it to me, and I'll take care of it all. Can I trust you to handle the tech without blowing a valve?"

"Only if I can trust _you_ to keep your head on straight until we blow Birdway's off," Horton grumbled, extending a hand outwards.

Hamasaki Tsubasa briefly thought on it, then took the hand into his own, and offered it a firm, confident shake.

"We've settled on it then, David. Before all that, I have _business_ to attend to. It won't keep me for too long."

Rising, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper departed from the cramped little café, leaving Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton and former Security Supervisor of the Level Six Shift Project Keitz Nokleben to their respective devices. They didn't protest, nor did they attempt to stop Voidwalker from departing.

The glass door, enwrapped within its cool, silver-coloured metallic frame – Academy City should have rightly been called 'Silver City', according to Tsubasa's higher mind – closed shut of its own accord as he stepped away, moving, quickly, from the café. Repeatedly, Voidwalker peered over either of his shoulders, as if expecting to be trailed, or otherwise observed.

" _They want me to lead a forward command into a sovereign state. Interesting proposal. How many innocent casualties would come about from such an invasion? This is an intriguing position to be placed in. Academy City isn't fond of betrayals."_

Rooting around in the pocket of his uniform's pants, Hamasaki Tsubasa produced his smartphone. Flipping the device open, fingertips soon falling upon the device's physical keypad, he clicked and clacked a text message together, occasionally looking up from the device's screen to observe the path before him.

The streets of Academy City's seventh school district were open, wide, and belied that which laid _just_ beneath the squeaky-clean surfaces. Cobbled walkways, ornately-paved roadways, so many towering structures which almost seemed to form colossal walls that glimmered and gleamed beneath the sun's rays, this was, at first glance, the very concept of utopia. Shops, offices, student dormitories, restaurants… Ornated streets were accentuated by public parks, small and large, some intended for small groups to sit and engage in conversations, others intended for higher amounts of foot traffic.

It was all the sort of thing a futurist would have dreamed of while attempting to describe the 'community of tomorrow'. Indeed, a certain animator-turned-mogul would have blushed at the sight that was Academy City, the 'City of Science', the city where anyone could dream. Where anyone could live, and develop supernatural powers, the next, natural step in human evolution.

Of course, the vast number of 'defective' level zeroes, a majority of whom turned to violent crime as a result of their pitiful turnouts in life, inspired by exceedingly low City-provided stipends was proof that the idea of 'anyone developing supernatural powers in Academy City' was little more than a corporate slogan. Hamasaki Tsubasa knew that. Anyone who took a bit of effort and dug beneath the shiny surfaces could figure that out.

" _Horse shit, and a very competent PR department."_

With only his own mind to accommodate him, Hamasaki Tsubasa engaged in a conversation with himself, mentally, exchanging one thought for the other, as if he had some other, living being in his mind with whom he could commune. Of course, Voidwalker knew he simply thought into the abyss.

" _Academy City… Forget about what you've heard. Send your children here if you want to put a permanent cap on their lives. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Board of Directors can bake all the bread and host all the circuses they could ever want. It doesn't change what Academy City is."_

Tsubasa's surroundings seemed to dictate that the truth was altogether quite the opposite. Commuting students, personal vehicles rushing past on the ornate, brickwork roadway. Professional individuals taking calls or otherwise working through their collective lunchbreaks on the patios of cafes. Young couples walking hand-in-hand.

It would have been an uplifting sight, if he didn't know what lurked below. The insidious truth behind Academy City's very purpose that every Gladio-Oculus operative was very much aware of. To uphold the Magic-Science Treaty, one had to be aware of 'the other Side'. To be aware of 'the other Side' was to be intimately familiar with the Science Side. To be intimately familiar with the Science Side was to be intimately familiar with its underbelly.

The Level Six Shift Project. Dark May. Agitate Halation. The Anti-Art Attachment. Clone Dolly. Orphans effectively trafficked into Academy City by Gladio-Oculus' shell adoption agencies from war-torn and poverty-stricken countries in the third world, branded 'Child Errors', dehumanized. Reduced to lab rats.

The mere tip of a proverbial iceberg.

" _Academy City is Hell."_

Tsubasa peered down at his smartphone once more; the message he'd hastily typed up was ready to go, sent on invisible waves to be received by the intended recipient.

" _Mind if I come over in a bit? It's important."_

It was innocuous enough. The intended recipient wasn't one who was all that orderly. Tsubasa knew well enough that her spunky, outgoing attitude negated any need for a true schedule. She flew by the seat of her pants, doing as she pleased, when she pleased how she pleased. She didn't let this place, and what horrors she'd witnessed during her time here keep her down. Despite being a 'defective' level zero, she somehow kept her head up, prideful, carrying on, trudging forward.

Voidwalker couldn't stop admiring her, even if he'd wanted to.

With the press of the smartphone's physical 'enter' key, the message was sent to Saten Ruiko.

As soon as Hamasaki Tsubasa received confirmation that the message had been successfully delivered, he put his Personal Reality to work. Performing the necessary calculations, pitting weight, height and spatial dimensions against one another as part of the complex formula, he imagined, willed _it_ into existence.

Sprouting from his own hand's palm was another hand, attached to another wrist. Arcing, crackling tendrils lashed at the air, as if offended by the presence of reality. These tendrils occasionally broke away from their main mass, dissipating into the air, leaving behind only soft half-whispers. Maddening nonsense.

The protruding, third hand, attached to a third wrist was pitch-dark, as black as a clear night's sky. Masses of lavender, resembling light plumes of billowing smoke more than physical matter danced across the hand's fingers and thumb. It was like a hand-shaped slice in reality had been made, revealing some darker dimension beneath the outer layer.

A gripping, wriggling hand formed from pure, void energies. Fifth of the most important Eastern elements, that which existed between the lines.

With his opposite, organic hand, Tsubasa dropped the smartphone into the void-hand.

As if hungry, the digits closed around the smartphone's tough, metallic outer shell. Almost instantaneously, the exterior camera was cracked, shattered into countless pieces. The tougher material of the shell proved more difficult, but not by much.

Voidwalker looked to the tallest structure in Academy City's seventh school district, as his protruding void-hand crushed his smartphone. Gladio-Oculus issued technology, exceedingly advanced, and exceedingly costly to produce.

This was a symbolic act. Tsubasa's gaze locked with that tall structure, that inane-seeming, silver-coloured tower which rose into the sky above, as if mocking God in Heaven. It lacked a single window upon its surfaces. It lacked even a single door.

The Windowless Building offered no resistance to Hamasaki Tsubasa's meager act of defiance; a part of him had believed that the Building would rise up in protest, perhaps fire a cluster of missiles at him.

No such thing happened.

But Voidwalker knew well enough that in Academy City, that Windowless Building's most important, influential resident had eyes everywhere. Floating on the breeze, settled within blades of grass, attached to the legs of buzzing insects and to the wings of chirping birds.

The Windowless Building's most important, influential resident had very much witnessed the act of overt defiance, but couldn't have cared any less. Aleister Crowley, floating upside-down, bound within his life preservation chamber, bobbing, slightly, in the orange-white liquid that encased his androgynous body did not start, nor did his eyelids widen.

For as much attention as Aleister paid to the defiant act, he looked down upon Hamasaki Tsubasa, the Voidwalker as if he was little more than a scurrying rodent who had become self-aware, realizing that it was entrapped within a maze. Despite its scurrying, 'the Worst Magician' knew that this little rodent would never get far. It couldn't climb this maze's walls. The maze was all this rodent had.

Aleister couldn't even be bothered to shrug at the act. It simply wasn't worth the effort.

He wouldn't address this situation himself; instead, he'd hand the matter down to his Board of Directors. They could deal with it as they saw fit. The parallel processing device and artificial intelligence networked not merely into his Windowless Building, but into all of Academy City, Reading Thoth Seventy-Eight could deal with the details and dictate what needed to be dictated. Crowley was in no mood to deal with those suited sycophants.

"Right away, Aleister-sama!"

Voidwalker's void-hand retracted, 'slipping' back beneath the level five esper's flesh. As inconspicuously as he could, the 'number four' made his way through the lively streets of Academy City's seventh school district, with a destination in mind; his student dorm.

A short trip brought him there. It couldn't have taken him any longer than twenty minutes, after departing from that dinky little café. The dormitory wasn't particularly impressive by any stretch of the imagination. It looked quite like any other dormitory in Academy City's seventh school district, though, it was taller, with more dorms to each of the twelve floors. Each dorm had its own small, if private balcony; individual floors were traversed through the use of elevator cars, or alternatively, staircases held within dank, stuffy stairwells.

The ascent to the sixth floor was hardly eventful. The elevator car didn't stall, and no oddly-dressed strangers boarded the car with Tsubasa at any point. No explosive devices awaited him, stuck to the metallic door leading into his dorm.

Somehow, for some odd reason unknown even to him, Voidwalker had expected all of the above. Aleister Crowley had 'ways' of making things happen, yes. But did he even matter, in the grand scheme of things?

Level five espers were not merely ranked by the scale of their vast power, but, by their usefulness to Academy City, and, by extension, Aleister. If even the third-string Misaka Mikoto was considered expendable, then, where did that leave him?

Accelerator, Academy City's 'top dog' – the Main Plan – and whatever chunks of Kakine Teitoku, Academy City's second-strongest level five – the Spare Plan – remained, stuffed away in a sterile refrigerator somewhere, in some dark room, in some dank, stinking subterranean facility, were the only espers who truly 'mattered'. All others were disposable.

A tough pill to swallow. Voidwalker found himself choking on it.

It was a thought Hamasaki Tsubasa sought not to dwell on. He tossed the thought aside, burying it within his subconscious mind as he turned his key in both of his door's locking mechanisms, then opening it. Somehow, going _over_ the motions as he made them, not merely _through_ them made the task of discarding unwanted, intrusive thoughts just a bit easier.

He must've forgotten the television on; the afternoon's news bulletin was playing. White, shades of red and yellow repeatedly flashed against the nearby wall adjacent the wall-mounted television.

"It's Mental Health Awareness Day in Academy City!" The newscaster happily chirped. "Today is when we recognize that, sometimes, we need to reach out to friends and family for help. Mental health is just as important as physical health. We—"

The television flickered off. The remote was thrown at it, and it crashed against the glass screen, leaving an unsightly mark behind before falling to the hardwood floor with a series of clangs.

"Write better scripts, David."

Dust rose, then resettled. The dorm's cramped living quarters, cluttered with empty takeout boxes, garbage which had yet to be taken down to the curb and piles of filth-encrusted dishes yet to be washed resembled a scene that wouldn't have been out of place in the abandoned, foreclosed home of an evicted hoarder. Dust clung to every surface. Vermin scuttered and scurried. Opportunistic elements of the insect kingdom found safe haven there.

Evidently, Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't live well.

" _They want to start a war, and they want my help. They aren't getting it… But they've got me good. I already know what they'll do. They'll threaten her. They'll threaten Ruiko. They'll start leaving their fucking notes again, breaking windows, knocking on the door in the middle of the night again. Assholes."_

The television – somehow, the device still worked despite having jagged cracks, almost appearing to form intricate patterns onto themselves snaking all across its screen – reminded Hamasaki Tsubasa as a time not all that long ago. A time when there had been one, single current event.

Tsubasa found himself reminded, again, of the inability to escape it. It had been the trending topic on every social media platform. Broadcasting stations which hadn't ordinarily aired news stories broke their transmissions to report every new development.

World War III. The global conflict which had devoured Russia for just over a week.

The thought made the fourth-ranked level five esper shudder unconsciously.

" _This is_ _ **your**_ _war. You won't be getting my help to start it. Not even you, David… I'll put something together."_

Quite suddenly, Voidwalker felt himself drained of energy, the mere will to stand upon his own two feet. Stumbling, falling backwards, he landed unceremoniously upon the filth-encrusted couch. Half-empty takeout boxes crumpled beneath his body's weight. Several insects darted away. A scavenging rat, spooked, departed quickly from the scene, abandoning its dried-out ramen noodles and fleeing the towering giant that had just collapsed nearby.

Resting his hand upon his forehead, Hamasaki Tsubasa sighed aloud. The thin layer of invisible void energies which constantly, passively flowed mere inches from his form protected him from bug bites, and from curious rodents.

Where had it all gone so wrong?

Like a mantra, he repeated the words within his higher mind.

" _Academy City is Hell."_

But, who was he to look down upon them? Who was he to criticize them? Who was he to place himself upon a pedestal and rant and rave about them, and their immoral method to himself? He was no better. He was Hamasaki Tsubasa, a Gladio-Oculus G-man with a rep sheet.

He recalled his own words, recalled his own actions.

_"No hero's going to save you from me! Nan, I KILL heroes! I lay them out! I attend their fucking funerals just to fuck with their grieving loved ones, for fun! I piss on the graves of heroes! You'll talk, or you'll die! THAT'S IT! That's our negotiation! Fuck it! You're not in the mood?! Alright! Fine! Next knee! You'll never walk agaaaaaaain! Neeeeeveeeeeerrrrr agaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnn! Not even the Frog-Doctor will be able to fix you! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! Get your pain meds, nan! Here it comes!"_

He'd smashed that old woman's knees until they'd been nothing but shattered bone. He'd waterboarded her, simulating her drowning over, and over. He'd snapped her neck, killing her, even after she'd told him everything he'd needed from her.

And what did that make Voidwalker, one among Academy City's level fives?

A monster. Just another mentally ill human monster.

What had _come over_ him? Some dark, oppressive force. Something that had pulled at his innards, wracked his mind, left him incapable of using reason. That old woman who, on some level, had apparently operated that 'Occult Market', a Magic Side infiltration of Academy City and a clear violation of the Magic-Science Treaty had been deleted, effectively. Like a program on a computer dragged and dropped into the recycle bin.

" _That… It wasn't me. It wasn't me! I'm not_ _ **like**_ _that! Then… Then, who_ _ **was**_ _it? If it wasn't me, who did it? Who's always done it?"_

Rubbing his temples with his hand's index finger and thumb, Hamasaki Tsubasa groaned. Lethargy took hold. He sank, deeper and deeper into surfaces of the ratty couch's cushions. Even as he felt the metallic springs beneath him, Tsubasa hardly felt it. The sensations were distant.

" _Academy City has this effect on people. It makes decent people do terrible things. It makes monsters. Academy City… Is Hell."_

Moping about as depression set in, the darkened clouds rolling over and downpouring without a moment's hesitation nor thoughts of relenting, he _realized_ that this accomplished nothing. In fact, it accomplished less than nothing.

But, what hope was there? Academy City was set in its ways. There was a status quo, and that status quo could not be damaged nor destroyed. The iron grip of the General Superintendent and his puppets, the Board of Directors, was simply too powerful. Forces at work within this place were beyond the scope and grasp of any, especially an uppity teenager like himself.

To flee the walls was an option. There was no forcefield surrounding the colossal, walled enclave, and no automatons patrolled its borders seeking to bring death to deserters.

At the very least, he could be selfish. He'd always have that going for him.

Rising from the ratty old couch with some reluctance, grunting as he did so, Hamasaki Tsubasa departed from the filthy, disgusting living quarters, and hobbled down the hallway, which held doors leading into the dorm's sole bedroom and lone bathroom. The former was Voidwalker's destination.

Pushing through the door, he stepped into a mostly barren, unfurnished room. Save for a simple bed, intended for use by a single person and a cheap, metal nightstand next to it, with drawers built-in, there was nothing in the way of ornamental intricacy. The room's single window was obscured, veiled by drawn curtains.

He rooted through the nightstand's drawers, encountering empty pill bottles, an unloaded handgun, and, finally… A small, square-shaped box, with an ornamental ribbon tied over its surfaces several times. It looked too pristine to be in this dorm; Hamasaki was aware of that, and chuckled at the thought.

He'd always have his selfishness. He could always reach out to her, be honest, and try to convince her to abandon all of this with him. How did she really feel about him? Saten Ruiko always _had_ been a hard nut to crack. For all of her upbeat, energetic attitude and personality quirks, every single one of which he adored to no end, the level zero girl had been something of an enigma when it came to her own feelings.

" _I shouldn't."_

His selfishness found itself brutally overpowered by his own logical means of thinking.

" _This place is an irredeemable hellhole that deserves to be nuked into oblivion… But she has friends here. Ruiko's trying her best. She always has. She has her little life here, with her little routine and her little hangouts. If anyone should go, it should be me. Alone. Whatever the case, you're not getting your war. Not now, not ever. Not from me."_

Was it the 'moral' thing to do? Hamasaki Tsubasa couldn't have known. He'd found himself balancing delicately on a proverbial tightrope, trying to balance himself, somewhere between good and evil. If 'good' was right and 'evil' was left, then, Voidwalker viewed himself as leaning to the left while walking upon this tightrope.

" _This is stupid. What the fuck am I doing?"_

Preparing himself, Voidwalker stuffed the box he'd collected into his uniform pants' pocket. Trekking to the poorly-maintained, cramped bathroom, with its tiled walls and dirt-encrusted flooring, the fourth-ranked level five esper peered at himself in the dust-covered mirror. He'd need a shower. He'd need to comb his shoulder-length hair, make himself look at all presentable if he was going to visit someone like _her_ , like Saten Ruiko.

* * *

Though he couldn't have known it, there were others in Academy City making their moves, egged on by nameless, faceless, shadowy 'liaisons' who dwelled in the darkness, who, in turn, were supplied with their contracts by the Board of Directors. In one of their safehouses, located within an otherwise unremarkable high-rise apartment complex, the eldest of three girls staying there received a phone call. She hadn't been expecting anyone; but such was life as a mercenary working within the darkness. Jobs didn't, couldn't and simply _wouldn't_ pop up conveniently. For someone like her, who killed for coin, jobs came when jobs came.

Mugino Shizuri sat quietly, one leg elegantly crossed over the other's thigh. She listened, her eyelids narrowing with each passing word spoken to her by the gruff-sounding voice emanating from the opposite end of the call. Academy City's fifth-ranked level five esper – dethroned, humiliated and utterly brought low by that void-brat – suddenly found herself smirking a wide, toothy smirk.

"Voidwalker upsets a delicate balance. You of all people would surely want revenge against him, for what he took from you. Deal with it appropriately, and your organization will be financed appropriately. Additionally, your status as fourth-ranked will be reinstated."

Shizuri could barely speak. She'd become so overtly giddy, so filled to the absolute, bubbling brim with a childlike sense of excitement that, for a few passing moments, she'd forgotten she was even talking with anyone at all.

"So, that fucking brat has lost his protection?"

"For the moment."

"Hah!"

How the tables had turned. That idiot boy should've known better. Academy City protected only what was useful to its interests. As soon as one ceased to be useful to the powers at play within this walled enclave, their life was forfeit. Mugino Shizuri had been operating within the 'Dark Side of Academy City' long enough to understand what this meant.

"ITEM would be more than happy to take the job. Consider it **done**."


	2. Tides of Darkness

February 11th, 2004. 7:00 PM.

By the standards of student dormitories in Academy City's seventh school district, this dormitory wasn't particularly special. To one who didn't have business there, it would have blended in perfectly with just about any other. Flat-roofed, silver-coloured and mostly sterile in design though with soft, beige-coloured stripes running horizontally along its walls, the individual student apartments didn't even have balconies; they were cramped on the inside, with little more than a single room for everyday living, where a bed was expected to be, a cramped kitchen area, and a tiny, equally cramped bathroom. Two ascending staircases lead from the cobbled walkway below to the dormitory's first row of dorms, then to the second.

Altogether, it was a residence in which Saten Ruiko didn't deserve to be entrapped, in Hamasaki Tsubasa's opinion. This dumpy little dormitory was too pitiful for all of her majesty and limitless beauty, which radiated from the inside-out, infinitely.

Academy City's fourth-ranked level five didn't quite know for how long, precisely, he was going to be away from Academy City, and from _her_. The thought pained him. Merely considering it sent painful, wracking bursts of discomfort rushing throughout his chest.

Perhaps, it would give him some time to reflect on his behaviour, and how he, himself viewed the object of his affections. If he were to lay all things out on the proverbial table, come clean, confess and be entirely honest, what would a normal, spunky, outgoing girl like Ruiko think of him, and his view of her? Would she view him as an extreme romantic, or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a disturbing, obsessive freak?

Such would have to wait. At the very least, he could do _this_. In its own way, _this_ would tell him all he needed to know, and how best he should proceed with his own, future plans.

Ascending the staircases and seeking out the dark, metallic door which lead into the Saten Residence, Voidwalker gently knocked his bare hand's knuckles against the door's surface, then waited, stepping back and resting his form against the nearby railing.

Only a few moments would pass before the door swung open, inwards, and that beautiful, precious young woman practically threw herself outwards, arms spread wide open.

"Hamasaki-san!"

As happy, as friendly, as outgoing as ever, Saten Ruiko's mere vocalizations brought a smile to the tense-feeling high school boy. In a platonic embrace, the level zero girl's arms were around his shoulders. Her embrace was warm, all-encompassing, a relaxing sensation that, for a brief, few moments caused all of Tsubasa's troubles to slip away and slink, back, into the darkened depths from which they'd emerged, like so many disgusting little imps.

"Hey, Saten."

He returned the embrace, with some reluctance. His hands were filthy, speaking proverbially. They were plastered in filth, from the tips of his fingers to his wrists. One such as him, truthfully, didn't even deserve to so much as touch a girl as pure as this. That was Hamasaki Tsubasa's outlook on the situation.

"When you texted, I was _so_ hyped! We haven't hung out since…"

She seemed to trail off, then. Saten Ruiko remembered their last encounter, in that bank. When she'd witnessed, and not for the first time, how quickly a situation could spiral out of control. How a carefree, lazy day could become a frantic struggle to survive.

Though their embrace parted, Voidwalker rested a hand gently upon his friend's shoulder.

"Don't think about it, Saten. Happy thoughts are always nicer than heavy thoughts. Remember?"

"Y-Yeah. That's right! Happy thoughts, not heavy thoughts."

"See? You've got the hang of this. Besides, perk up, Saten. I got something for you."

"?!"

With her wide, curious blue eyes, so full of love and life, and long, elegant dark hair, Saten Ruiko, even her exceedingly casual dress, looked the part of an extravagant royal to Hamasaki Tsubasa. A purple-striped hooded sweater adorned her upper body, and beneath it, a simple short-sleeved shirt. Loose-fitting gym shorts adorned her lower body, as did ankle socks.

"F-For me?! You really shouldn't have…"

From within the pocket of his uniform's pants, Hamasaki Tsubasa produced a small, square-shaped box, with an ornate ribbon tied over its surfaces several times over.

Ruiko peered down at it. For a moment's time, she seemed to become fixated on it. Her eyelids widened at the mere sight of it, as if it was something worth becoming deeply flustered over. Almost instantaneously, the girl's cheeks flared up, turning to a bright, crimson shade of red. Stuttering wordlessly, the level zero girl turned her gaze from the little box, and to the boy who held it out in front of her.

"C-Can I…?"

"Be my guest."

Taking it into her hands and holding it close, as if she feared she'd drop it, Ruiko pried the ribbon away with shaking fingers. Her nails shuddered as her fingers' tips did. Once the ribbon was torn away, the Urban Legend girl lifted the box's lid with considerable caution to her actions.

Held within, surrounded by soft, fluffy white material akin to cotton, was an object which, quite literally, took Ruiko's breath away. It was stunningly beautiful; unlike anything the girl had ever laid her eyes' gaze upon in her entire, relatively short life. It glimmered without the presence of light. Its golden-coloured surfaces decorated with ornate patterns, studded with tiny, precious gems which Ruiko couldn't even begin to try and identify, it was a ring. In its center was a large, octagonal gem. This gem was one Ruiko recognized as soon as she glimpsed it.

It was a diamond.

" _N-No way… What is this? V-Valentine's isn't until the fourteenth! It's so beautiful! I'm happy… I'm really, really happy… But… I… Which finger should I wear it on…? What does it mean…? Hamasaki-san…?"_

Quietly, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five chuckled.

"I'm not asking you to elope, or anything crazy. It's… Huh. I thought this would be easier. It seemed easier in my head, Saten. It symbolizes my intentions, I suppose. A promise I probably should have extended a long time ago _…_ "

Their eyes' respective gazes locked, then.

"I'm willing to save myself and wait for you, as long as it takes _…_ Ruiko _…_ Would you do the same? Once you come of age, and you feel you can, would you return my feelings for you? Will you save yourself for me?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation in her words.

They were the words of a confident individual who realized only in that moment that something deeply precious had been offered onto them.

"It's so beautiful! I don't want to stop looking at it! I-I've always l-liked you… But I-I've… I've always felt like it was hard to get close! You're a level five, and I'm just a level zero, and…"

Every molecule in Voidwalker's body demanded that he lean in and kiss her; but that could wait. That could wait four years, five years, a thousand years. There was no length of time that Hamasaki Tsubasa _wouldn't_ wait for her.

"None of that matters, Ruiko."

"… Huh?"

"If you have feelings for me, and I have feelings for you, isn't that all that matters? Our esper levels are irrelevant. I'd give this power up in a second for you. I'd give anything and everything for you."

Then, slowly, Saten Ruiko slipped the golden, bejeweled ring onto her right hand's index finger. For some reason or another, her mind simply went straight to that finger, on that hand. It was a perfect, snug fit. Accentuated by her soft, light-coloured skin, she looked down at it, wiggled her fingers about, then brought the ring up to her lips.

"It's breathtaking… Hamasaki-san… H-How much did you _pay_ for this?!"

"Doesn't matter. I'd give you an entire diamond mine if I could."

Then, as if the mood suddenly shifted around her, Ruiko found that boy who, in her heart, she felt such powerful feelings for sighing, as if some morose air had come to enshroud him, beyond her sight.

"I'm glad clearing the air didn't go nearly as bad as I figured it would've… I'll be leaving for a while. I wanted to take off on a happy note."

The Urban Legend girl could've done just about anything, in _that_ moment, hearing _those_ words spoken by _him_. Ruiko focused on the response which made the most logical sense, and decided upon it, and it alone. There would be no sense in becoming visibly upset. If anything, she'd simply lose sight of her goal and mess **everything** up. She wasn't that kind of girl. There was a reasonable path, always. If there was **anything** she'd learned from diving headfirst into the Level Upper debacle, it had been the capacity for reasoning.

No. Saten Ruiko would behave as a woman would, not a girl. She wouldn't debase herself in such ways.

"Hamasaki-san, I'm really happy… But you can't just give me something like this, tell me everything you have, and then just run off on me. This is a big part of what's been keeping _me_ from being honest, too. You're always running off, being all mysterious-like."

It was Tsubasa's turn to calculate, and weigh his options. Everything he could ever want was here, in front of him. She hadn't turned him away. Even with all of his exceedingly corny and, by his own admission, exceedingly lame admissions, she hadn't turned him away. Ruiko hadn't mocked him, nor rejected him, nor walked away from him. Until he'd mentioned what he'd mentioned, she'd seemed nothing but completely contented.

"I don't know what you've got yourself into, but I can help! I've helped Misaka-san with things like this, if that's what you're stuck in! I… I love you. And I want to be here for you."

The fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker, had a choice to make. It was presented before him, as clear as the blue sky of a cloudless summer's day. Academy City's never-ending 'darkness' could claim another victim…

Or…

Hamasaki Tsubasa could risk it all and betray his handlers. Betray the City that had made him into what he was, for a very specific purpose. Risk incurring the wrath of this experimental supercity's General Superintendent, he who observed and knew all.

UNDER_LINE surrounded him. Hamasaki Tsubasa knew and understood this as a fact, as a facet of reality in this City. There were few places one could go in Academy City which _weren't_ being observed constantly by the microscopic devices that floated on the air.

He certainly hadn't expected things to go quite like this. In fact, Voidwalker had envisioned almost all of it in his mind's eye, presuming on it, assuming that his thoughts would play out perfectly in reality. He'd constructed something of a narrative within his thoughts.

Reality betrayed the narrative. Reality did _not_ follow the narrative. Saten Ruiko was not a character in a book. She was a living, thinking person who wouldn't simply obey the whims of a narrator who controlled all things from on high, toying with lives like so many puppets dangling on strings.

"I… I guess I didn't figure I'd be saying this to you so soon… I love you too, Ruiko… You're right. Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. If you'd offer your help to me, I'll accept it. Might I come in? I hate to impose—"

"Bologna!" Ruiko exclaimed, beckoning her friend inwards. "You're always welcome here, silly. Come on in."

He had some inkling of it, but couldn't yet envision where, exactly it would lead him. Stepping through the doorway, from outside Saten Ruiko's residence and into it, Hamasaki Tsubasa, in fact, took his first steps out from the darkness and into the light.

Aleister Crowley, Academy City's General Superintendent, was none too pleased. Too many of his toys were beginning to act up.

* * *

Most classes had been let out, unleashing waves of tired, if grateful students, with the exception of those who'd found themselves either entrapped in afterschool detention classes, or willingly taking part in classes whose focal point was extracurricular in nature.

Elsewhere in Academy City, in a certain dorm – the Saten Residence, in truth – in the seventh school district a middle schooler and a high schooler sat across from one another, separated by a simple table. For some ten minutes, no words had been exchanged between the two.

A female and a male both existed as mere acquaintances, two individuals, a level zero and a level five, who knew one another, and were fond of the other's company.

There was nothing more to the meeting than that, absolutely not.

There wouldn't be anything more to this sort of meeting until she, Saten Ruiko, the level zero Urban Legend girl, came of age. That was the agreement the two had settled upon.

Saten Ruiko, victim of the Level Upper, she who'd ended up in a coma, she who'd caused nothing but suffering for her close friends in her ill-advised quest for power repeatedly told herself that she would have to wait. She was too young. Even as her feelings swarmed like angry, buzzing hornets who'd been summoned to defend the nest.

Besides, she was absolutely average, nothing special about her in the slightest. This was fine. The milquetoast middle schooler girl, the level zero who spent her spare time chasing after Urban Legends that more often than not let straight to a dead end.

And further besides, she was a student, she didn't have time. Expecting another person to deal with her mental hang-ups, her over-studious behavior and her overall nature would simply be unfair.

She needed to get herself together before she even considered such a thing. She _needed_ to wait. She _needed_ to be older, wiser.

It was a quest she'd have to undertake alone, a hurdle she'd have to leap over with her own willpower acting as the metaphorical trampoline beneath her feet, as best as she could with no outside aid. Should she trip, fall and wind up flat on her face, Saten Ruiko would simply have to pick herself up and try again.

No one else deserved to stumble and fall into the proverbial mud with her.

Then, from beyond her higher mind's confines, beyond the thick and cell-like walling of her own consciousness a vocalization was produced. Soft, doting, and characteristically low-pitched, it offered Ruiko a free 'get out of jail' card – the proverbial jail in question being the prison formed by her own mind's seemingly never-ending stream of thoughts.

"Ruiko. Something wrong? You went quiet, all of a sudden. 'Not like you. If something's bothering you, feel free to ramble about it, I know I do it enough to you."

Looking upwards, and away from her feet, adorned in her tight-fitting ankle socks, Ruiko's eyelids slid shut. Above, the synthetic rays of golden-white light beamed down, originating from the dorm's light fixtures. She sighed, quietly.

What was there to lie about?

Not that it mattered. He didn't like her, anyways. He was a level five, who could have just about any girl he wanted. No matter what he said, it simply didn't make sense. Why would he pursue some lowly, powerless level zero with mental baggage and a penchant for the strange? She, Saten Ruiko, she didn't like parties. She didn't like spending entire weekends bumbling about a shopping mall, not so much anymore. She just wanted to curl up in her dorm room's bed with her phone and learn more about some rumored snuff film, or the latest cryptid sighting.

In fact, with each step she took further down the internal rabbit hole, Ruiko quickly realized something rather blatant, something that would've been obvious to even the most idiotic of bumbling, irate airheads; she was hardly a girl at all. She was more like some sort of rambunctious tomboy.

Saten Ruiko produced a forced chuckle.

"There are a few things, actually, Hamasaki-san. If you wouldn't mind listening…"

"I don't, might as well talk about them now, not a lot of sense coming over to see a… friend… and then just existing, quiet as an abused housewife."

Looking past the obviously grim comparison – it was a normal enough occurrence for the eccentric Hamasaki Tsubasa to do that, sometimes, Ruiko knew well enough – she dug her fingers into the rightmost pocket of her shorts, from which she produced her smartphone.

With a quick press of a button and an upwards swipe of her finger, the level zero esper tapped on her phone's Internet browser icon, and then handed the device off to her friend, the recently fourth-ranked level five.

"Maybe you could give that a quick read, and tell me what you think? I'm probably just worrying for nothing because… that makes enough sense; I do it all the time… I tried asking Uiharu, but she's... not being very receptive right now. I can't really blame her; I'm not blaming her! That sounded like I was blaming her, didn't it?"

Into his left hand, Tsubasa took his close friend's phone, which she'd offered to him. With his right, he patted her on the shoulder. Though he reeled the extremity away swiftly enough, suggesting some level of discomfort, or perhaps insecurity, Saten Ruiko appreciated the thought put into the act.

"Nobody said you were blaming her, Saten, lay it back. Uiharu's just going to need some time for herself, to think, to sort her thoughts out. Guarantee you that she'll be back to her usual self in a week, maybe two weeks tops. She needs something, she'll come to you, 'til then just let things play out."

This duality was almost amusing to Tsubasa, the duality of the situation.

On one hand, the hand which held the proverbially half-full cup, his close friend, the friendly and spunky Saten Ruiko sat across from him – she'd accepted _him_ into _her_ place of residence, a thought absurd enough onto itself – and willing to even pay scum like him the time of day. The evening truly wasn't that bad, at least from a perspective that took everything into account.

On the opposite hand, the hand which held the metaphorically half-empty cup, what troubled his close friend was something beyond their respective control.

The eyes of the fourth-ranked level five focused their combined vision upon the screen of level zero Saten Ruiko's smartphone, where a news article was plastered, opened in a digital news app of some description – not even the name of the application was identified in the user interface itself, not that it mattered all that much.

" _Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) Threatens "Extreme Merciless Retaliation" Against American, Chinese, Academy City Sanctions, Successfully Test Launches Medium-Range Ballistic Missiles"._

So, that was what troubled Saten Ruiko's mind; a decent enough of a concern, in and of itself.

Still, that pathetic joke of a rogue nation was, as always, spewing more nonsense from its many mouths once more. All talk, and no action. Perhaps if their missiles ended up anywhere other the ocean, they'd be considered something more than the laughing stock of the world stage.

Hamasaki Tsubasa could only shake his head in disapproval, as he cautiously returned Ruiko's phone to her.

"Is this what's got you going? Saten, they're a Cold War remnant, their tech's a joke without a punch line. I'm pretty sure a Child Error could take their entire country by themselves."

"I know," Ruiko admitted, reluctance detectable in her vocal tone, "but it's a "what if" thing, in my head. I don't want something like World War Three happening again, that was horrible! Why can't everyone just get along, and settle things like adults, Hamasaki-san?"

"Couldn't answer that, even if I tried, I think it's pitiful more than anything, it's about time someone assassinates their "Glorious Leader"."

Not even for a moment did she hesitate.

Instincts seemed to take over, the desire to find animal comfort, in one way or another ensnared her mind, putting it in a coiling, unwanted embrace.

Ruiko's hand found itself quickly clasping Tsubasa's in its own, her digits curling, coiling and entrapping her friend's hand in a near-crushing vice grip. Apparently, whatever means he used to achieve his reflection abilities either didn't work, or had been disabled.

In truth, the occurrence could be accurately attributed to the latter, though Ruiko had no reliable means of knowing this.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, the recently-crowned fourth-ranked level five, he who'd bulldozed the likes of the sixth, fifth and originally fourth-ranked level fives found himself nearly seizing up, like a piece of machinery experiencing a technical malfunction.

Despite this, he maintained the balance and stability usually present within his voice, as he spoke his piece in response to Ruiko's anxious statement.

"Food poisoning would do just fine, if a bullet to the brain's for whatever reason out of the question. Surely, vengeance is long-overdue. Hell, I'll do it myself, as long as someone pays me."

It was more catharsis than reassurance.

Silence descended once more, following a brief, exasperated sigh from Ruiko.

Why did he have to turn everything into an "I could totally beat this person up" moment? He was a level five, sure, and he liked fighting, sure, but he didn't have to bring it into everything. He was even worse than Misaka Mikoto in that aspect.

About to pose the inquiry to her friend, an act which would've allowed for her queries to escape from the confines of her mind and into the material world, vocalized, Ruiko stopped, reigning herself in, just as her lips nearly began to move.

From within the pocket of his pants, there was a short series of beeps; Hamasaki Tsubasa had received a text message. This was further cemented by the fact that the fourth-ranked level five reached into his pocket, and produced his phone. Indeed, it was more than a mere theory, a stab in the dark.

As he unlocked the device, sliding his index finger about on its touchscreen interface, the expression on the fourth-ranked level five's face slid awkwardly about, becoming grim.

"What's up, Hamasaki-san?"

Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't immediately respond. Instead, his eyes' vision remained utterly focused on his screen.

This was his _personal_ device. Not that which he'd used to communicate with his 'employers', if they could truly be referred to as such; a device that had been physically destroyed. How had they gotten his personal number? The answer was obvious enough; but that meant that Aleister was taking this more seriously than Tsubasa had previously anticipated.

This changed nothing.

Even when the message Tsubasa had electronically received was a declaration, an order, an absolute command, this changed nothing. The message came from beyond even the authority of Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton, it came from beyond the authority of Horton's own employers, even.

It came directly from the faceless killers who dwelled atop the figurative pyramid that was the hierarchy of Academy City's black operation, Gladio.

It was a message directly from Gladio Director Hideyoshi Sugou.

If the cellular device possessed by Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't run on a closed-shell, custom operating system, with a virtually unbreakable, private network, safeguarded by the greatest security technology Academy City could create, the fourth-ranked level five would've thought Gladio's Director to be a complete, suicidal idiot.

As an apparent 'extra' level of security, the electronically delivered message had been constructed using the alphabetical characters of a custom auxiliary language, EsperantoX2, a language which, if all was going according to plan, only Operatives within Gladio possessed the knowledge to decode.

" _Operative Hamasaki,_

" _It has come to our attention that Kamijou Touma, once-cornerstone in the greater schemes of the General Superintendent himself, the third strongest esper in Academy City, the level five candidate Musujime Awaki, otherwise known as Move Point, the rogue Key to the Imaginary Number District and the List of Prohibited Books, along with others, henceforth referred to as 'the threat' have officially fallen out of Gladio custody._

" _Operative Tsuchimikado cannot account for them, and, therefore, we can assume them compromised. A mole unit within the ranks of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church, formerly associated with the 0_ _th_ _Parish of the Church of England, Necessarius will continue to keep Gladio Operatives updated, in regards to this developing matter._

" _Additionally, there is a chance that the Main Plan has been heavily damaged, in an apparent conflict with the threat, resulting in grievous bodily harm. The General Superintendent cannot be certain, but an associate of Operative Tsuchimikado believes this to be the case._

" _Regardless of this rumour's veracity, Operative Hamasaki, you are hereby tasked with the termination of the Moderating Unit of the abandoned Misaka Network, known as "Last Order". Additionally, the further termination of former researcher Yoshikawa Kikyou, as well as teacher and Anti Skill Operative Yomikawa Aiho have been sanctioned and approved, by my own word. Their usefulness has supposedly reached its end, regardless of whether the Main Plan lives._

" _While crude in both theory and execution, your orders are your orders. Don't concern yourself with the cleanup effort, Anti-Skill janitorial staff will handle it._

" _Operation Pacifier is presently engaged. Present within are simplistic and encrypted directions leading to Operation Pacifier's launch point._

" _Good day, Operative Hamasaki,_

" _Regards,_

"– _Director Sugou"_

As Hamasaki Tsubasa looked up, his fingers' grip around his cellular phone tightened. Within their merciless, crunching grip, the plastic outer shelling produced a series of soft cracking sounds, not unlike the sound produced by ice being dropped into a cup, filled with liquid.

"… Looks like I just lost my job, Saten."

"What do you mean you're out of a job, Hamasaki-san? O-oh… I hope you weren't let go. I didn't know you were working anywhere in your spare time… I'm sorry. I-I'm sure you'll f-find another job quickly, I'm s-sure of it! Y-you're smart, and v—"

She froze, momentarily, as Hamasaki Tsubasa proverbially shot in her direction her the darkest, grimmest, most unsettling look she'd ever seen painted upon the facial features of a human being.

Saten Ruiko couldn't even begin to try and get another word in, edgewise. Her own lips simply lost momentum, like a runner who could jog no further.

"Saten, I want you to do me a favor. Friends do favours for one another, right? So do me a favour. All I want is for you to do right now is kick me out. Go and be a normal girl, go read about your Urban Legends, or something. Work on developing your ability, or work on your magic. I can introduce you to people who can help with your magic development. All I need for you to do right now is to stop associating with me.

"Hamasa…"

"Saten. It's confusing, and it's going to stay that way, as long as I have even a single say in it. Being within twenty feet of me is dangerous for you, life-threatening."

"What…?"

"I'm going to do something that I shouldn't be doing. I'm going to piss off a lot of very important and powerful people in Academy City. They're going to want my head, and they might just get it, if I miscalculate even a single step. So go, Saten, go back to being a normal girl. If I wind up with a bullet in my forehead, I'm glad that you're going to be the last Light Side person that I see."

Saten Ruiko found herself in an undesirable situation, indeed; not quite knowing what to say or do, as the fourth-ranked level five rose from his seat at the table, cellular phone clutched in the palm of his hand, four digits and a thumb clasped around its plastic shell.

For Hamasaki Tsubasa, the next choice to make was all too simple.

He didn't look back at his friend. Instead, he simply looked down at his cellular device's touchscreen. Over it the tip of his thumb slid, as if he was peeling back the pages of a book. His illegal black operation paymasters wanted him to literally slaughter women and children – a single child, at least. In any case, it was a matter which simply couldn't be pursued. Uninvolved women and children, clones or not, was where the line was drawn, simply by principle.

This, however, still left the matter of the "Sons of Taured" operating within Academy City unattended. Continued neglect would lead to disaster, once more, simply by principal, both proverbially and literally.

Navigating through the individual entries of data within his cellular device's contacts list, Tsubasa's thumb came to rest upon no name in particular.

There were no options, no one to turn to, and no one to pawn the unwanted task upon.

Hopefully, time would for once humor him, and choose to take to his side.

He would have to become _the_ anti-establishment, the Director of a black project within a black project.

Only in Academy City could such an absurd and utterly, utterly incomprehensibly cryptic situation come to be; at the very least, Hamasaki Tsubasa was self-aware.

Mere moments following the locking of his cellular smartphone, the fourth-ranked level five's thumb hovering mere inches above the darkened, imageless tempered glass touchscreen of his smartphone, a vocalization became audible. A single declaration of a name, with an honorific following it, its uttering resulted in a sudden halt in his march towards the entranceway door of the Saten Residence.

"Hamasaki-san."

She'd managed to make her way up from her side of the table and to his side in the span of seconds. How he hadn't heard Saten Ruiko's footfalls, Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't know, and he likely never would. He wasn't about to ask such a strange question.

"If I wanted to be a 'normal girl', I never would've come to Academy City. All I've ever wanted is to help someone with something, anything, with an ability. I don't have an ability, and I probably never will have an ability, but abilities don't matter anymore! I have magic now! It's no…"

"Don't talk so loudly about that, Ruiko. Not even here."

"It's not much, but being able to summon fire is better than anything I'd ever done in school! Do you remember the time when I told you about when we fought Therestina?"

"Of course, I remember everything you say."

"Misaka-san was able to bring the whole place down on her head, and Shirai-san could teleport all over, without so much as a strain. Uiharu couldn't do much with her ability, but at least she has one! I couldn't do anything to help anyone, and now, that's changed! I can finally do _SOMETHINGI!_ Just… let me come with you. Please. Just let me help this once, so I can feel like I've accomplished SOMETHING in Academy City, even if I don't use an esper ability to accomplish it!"

Regardless of the fact that Saten Ruiko had taken his right hand into both of her own, and was clamping down on it with enough force to nearly rend flesh and shatter bone, Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't immediately offer a verbal response.

Instead, he merely contemplated, thinking silently to himself, giving life to thoughts, which would then careen about the confines of his higher mind, bouncing against proverbial, fleshy walls and travelling great distances, winding and weaving through nonexistent passageways.

Hamasaki Tsubasa grunted, like an enraged animal.

Tilting his head, and craning his neck to face the level zero esper who'd only recently discovered a tiny, miniscule portion of 'the Other Side', Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper on the planet looked directly into Saten Ruiko's blue eyes, and spoke his piece, the best series of vocalized words he could conjure.

"Saten, do you want to see Hell that badly? I can show you Hell. Should you decide to come with me, you're going to see Hell. You're going to stare into Hell, and it's going to stare back."

Though she said nothing, Ruiko nodded her head, yes.

She'd come to regret her decision before the end, and he knew it.

* * *

February 11 th , 2004. 7:10 PM

A sound was echoing throughout the open concept office; with very few walls at all for the repeated, rhythmic sounds to bounce against, Gladio Director Sugou's private line rang aloud, repeatedly, as if desperate for attention.

This 'line' was, in fact, not any sort of landline communication means, but rather a mobile device. Aside from bolstering a closed-shell operating system, connected to a private mobile network in which it had to share with no other device, friendly, hostile or otherwise, it wasn't all that peculiar. There were far more impressive pieces of technology.

For whatever curious reasoning his higher mind thought appropriate to dwell upon, these were the sorts of thoughts which drifted through the higher mind of Gladio's Director as he answered the incoming call, originating from an unknown source.

What an amusing distraction from 'the grind', indeed.

Leaning forward, resting his right arm's elbow upon the polished, wooden surface of his monolithic desk, Gladio's Director Hideyoshi Sugou raised his cellular device to his ear. Speaking softly, his gruff, vaguely scratchy vocalizations formed words, delivered directly into his mobile device's nigh-invisible external microphone.

"What're you looking for? Maybe I can help you find it."

"Agreeable as always, Sugou; I do find myself looking forward to our interactions."

"Oh? Well, well, well, if it isn't Aleister… I've been missing you, my friend."

"You rely too heavily on the game pieces placed upon your side of the board, Sugou. Should you decide to reject my advice, consider the following. I'm interfering with your operation."

"Nuh? Not you, that's not like yourself at all, Aleister. You wouldn't go and do something so brash. What's bothering you? What's the issue? Something's gotten you riled up, Aleister. Sharing is caring."

The firm, almost stubborn tone of voice in which Aleister Crowley spoke was an indicator of his foul mood. A silent, unspoken warning. All further complaints would be masked beneath the guise of sarcasm.

Then again, Academy City's General Superintendent would likely pick up on said guise with considerable swiftness. Whether their 'friendship' – if a business relationship on friendly terms could actually be called that – would manage to hold out was a matter that'd be seen as time passed.

"Voidwalker has officially become a liability. Sugou, from this point forward, you are to use whatever means become necessary to terminate it with extreme prejudice… hm. I've always wanted to say that. With as much devotion as I possess to give rise to SYSTEM, the Last Order is too important to remain unmolested.

"Voidwalker intends not to heed his command issues from on high, and, subsequently, Voidwalker, the Operative you've assigned with this task threatens to jeopardize much of what I have built. Halt its plans before they can even begin to take root, Sugou. I would do so myself, but my attention must presently remain elsewhere."

Though it seemed at a proverbial first glance that their conversation had come to its end, and, Hideyoshi Sugou wasn't about to doubt the capabilities of UNDER_LINE, one query remained within his higher mind, unvoiced, but certainly wishing to be vocalized in the world beyond its mind-womb.

"Aleister, would a question faze you?"

"No."

"What, per say, besides being an insecure, unstable and particularly rowdy youngster has the Voidwalker done to earn your ire? Could he not simply be interned in a Reformatory?"

"Academy City's security is jeopardized. The Main Plan _may_ be finished. Regardless, the Last Order must cease to be, even if the Main Plan lives. The Main Plan is useless to achieving SYSTEM, presently. As such, the Last Order is little more than a threat to national security. I've permitted the Last Order to exist thus far only out of curiosity. That curiosity, Sugou, is now sated."

"Oh. So, it's all part of your own little scheme, or, related to your little scheme, at the core of things… I understand. In fact, I've already set to dealing with the issue myself, without your prodding, Aleister. Do keep an eye out; you might find yourself entertained! Ah, of course, forgive me for neglecting to ask, Aleister. You don't have any present use for the Meltdowner, by any chance?"

"None."

"If grievous bodily harm inflicted upon the Meltdowner, perhaps resulting in brain death, would SYSTEM be compromised?"

"Not particularly. Do as you will, Sugou. All I ask is that you ensure the national security of Academy City while I attend to important matters of my own."

* * *

February 11 th , 2004. 7:22 PM.

Elsewhere in Academy City's seventh school district, another mobile device began to blare its ringing tone.

Rather than ringing out within a massive, open-concept office, this mobile device rang out within a family restaurant. Placed upon one of many dining tables within Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant, the smartphone belonging to Mugino Shizuri notified its owner not of an incoming call, but instead of an incoming textual message, delivered in the form of electronic mail.

Stirring her carbonated soda, poured into a tall, curved glass, Mugino Shizuri's gaze turned downward, toward the vibrating, repeatedly-bleeping device which seemed to be desperate to call out for her attention.

Older, elegant and refined; long, flowing tea-colored hair traversed her shoulders, and, sprouting from the crown of her head, its bangs danced along the surface of her neck. Her hair's fringe was hastily swept to the side of her forehead, forced away from her hazel eyes. Sporting a light-colored, frilly blouse, Shizuri wore darkened, completely opaque leggings, which stretched of her lower limbs like a second layer of flesh, so tightly did they cling to her. Accompanying her leggings were simple flats, light in coloration, matching her blouse.

The mobile device's repeated vibrations echoed across the table's surface subsequently caught the respective attentions of fellow ITEM mercenaries Kinuhata Saiai and Frenda Seivelun, both of whom sat directly across from the fifth-ranked level five.

The former individual was a small girl, adorned in a white sweater-dress which had been hemmed specifically to accommodate the contours of her underdeveloped, if curvy form. With legs clad in stockings, striped with pink and white and feet clad in almost absurdly tiny trainers, the small girl, with her brown hair styled into a bobcut raised her head, looking away from the magazine she'd previously taken to reading from.

The latter individual was an equally petite young woman, who dressed more formally than the former. With a torso clad in a dark-colored sailor uniform, a slim waist adorned in a white pleated skirt, she wore darkened, near opaque stockings upon her legs, which were accented by a pair of simple, if stylish buckled pumps. Sprouting downward from the crown of her head, long, curled golden hair was topped with a dark beret.

Seemingly, Frenda physically jumped in place, once the reality of cellular contact set in, within her higher mind's contemplations. Leaning forward, the petite mercenary slammed her fists down upon the surface of the dining table, and effectively knocking her own phone into the air.

The news article she'd been reading had been abandoned.

"Mugino, _please_ tell me that _someone_ has _something_ for us to do, basically, I'm going to die of boredom. Beating up a courier, blowing up some facilities, murdering some scientists, basically, _anything_ is better than nothing at this rate. Whatever happened to the guy who had us blowing up lingerie shops? He paid well! Tell me it's so, Mugino! Tell me it's _something_!"

Having looked away from the pages of her magazine, Kinuhata Saiai tilted her little head to the side.

"I'm super with Frenda; I could do with some extra money. I've super had to dip into my life savings lately, and it's interfering with my future plans! Nothing interferes with my plans! I super won't allow it!"

It was then that Mugino Shizuri placed her straw between her lips, and took a brief sip, forcing carbonated soda up through the straw, and into her mouth. It swished, for a moment, before she swallowed and began to address those who may as well have been considered her underlings.

"I know the both of you have been antsy. Yes, there're two jobs available, tailored specifically for ITEM supposedly, and it's going to pay well for a fucking change. Just received the 'OK' for the first from whatever motherfucker is okaying all of this shady business. So buck up and get your affairs in order, Kinuhata, Frenda. We leave in five."

As one, both Kinuhata Saiai and Frenda Seivelun, the level four esper, user of the ability identified as "Offense Armor", and the level three mercenary girl who, in conjunction with her ability, Violence Donut, utilized advanced, heavily-modified weaponry spoke aloud.

"Yes, Mugino!"


	3. Voidwalker VS ITEM - I

February 12th, 2004. 5:35 PM.

Saten Ruiko, the level zero esper who lacked any sort of scientific power, and Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper out of well over four million dwelling within the walled enclave of Academy City should've been eating dinner, perhaps with one another, merely as friends and not as two individuals who possessed any sort of romantic interest in one another, of course, or otherwise with Uiharu Kazari present.

The time was indicative of this fact, as were the occasional, bellowing grumbles produced by Ruiko's weeping stomach.

Instead of consuming a nutritious meal around a cheap, plastic table in the warmth and security of someone's dorm room, the level zero and the level five had wound up proverbially pounding the pavement, attempting to appear casual, otherwise acting natural, as both parties sized up the selection of vehicles gathered in the parking area just beyond the entrance of school district twenty-one's Nature Park.

Having generated, at the very least a bare-bones plot through which school district seven, and, subsequently, the apartment complex identified as "Family Side" would be reached, the matter of transportation had come upon them like a mugger blanketed in the evening's darkness; neither had expected it, neither had prepared for it, and neither had any real form of contingency. Saten Ruiko lacked the knowledge that an eight-year-old clone and a variation of her close friend Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun dwelled there.

"We should just take the bus; this is a _very_ bad idea, Hamasaki-san! There are people _everywhere_ and _someone_ is going to see us. Do you know how much trouble we could get int…"

"Shhh, Saten. Don't worry about it; the data they gather on my ability is useful to them. Nothing's going to happen. Worst possible outcome is as follows: Anti-Skill shows up, I blow them away and the higher-ups don't do a damn thing, because I'm worth something to them. All of the level fives are effectively immune to the law."

As Saten Ruiko fell quiet, not out of offense but rather to take a moment to think and ponder the profound effect her friend's words were quickly coming to have on her higher mind, Hamasaki Tsubasa continued to gaze at the wide assortment of vehicles found within the parking space, observing each, mentally taking notes on those which could – and couldn't – prove useful to him and to his level zero friend.

It was less a matter of security, and more a matter of speed and usability. If a vehicle had poor handling, if it hadn't bee designed to account for its driver making sharp turns and sudden, unexpected pounding on the gas pedal, it was of no use to the fourth-ranked level five esper.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem that any well-to-do folks had decided to pay school district twenty-one's Nature Park a visit.

The vehicles scattered about the Nature Park's designated parking area were simplistic, casual vehicles that one might take out on a leisurely Sunday afternoon's drive through the countryside, in some figurative location that actually had countryside to speak of; Academy City lacked country, let alone countryside.

Reeling his arm back, Hamasaki Tsubasa strolled around a nearby vehicle; a bright orange four-door, with numerous scrapes and a singular, vaguely veiny, web-shaped crack in the upper right-hand corner of its windshield, it had four tires, and four rims. If it started, it would have to do.

And, so, he spoke his piece.

"Saten, we're taking this one. Don't want suspicion so we've got to make this go quick, quick like a bunny."

Before a word could even begin to try and escape from between Ruiko's lips, a mass of void energy instantaneously swarmed from nowhere, surrounding the right hand of Academy City's fourth-ranked level five.

Stepping back, and then rushing headlong, forward into his one-sided battle against the inanimate object, Hamasaki Tsubasa's fist, protected by the mass of void energy nearly crashed through the driver's side window. If he wouldn't have stopped himself mid stride, his fist's impact would have sprayed glass about like so many raindrops ejected from a darkened and particularly hateful cloud.

Ruiko jumped, as Tsubasa swiftly forced the vehicle's driver's side door open, void energies crackling around him, and threw himself downward, into the driver's side seat; shards of glass cracked and crunched beneath him. Just how he'd managed to do so was unclear to the middle schooler level zero girl.

Even as Saten Ruiko struggled to regain her composure following her silent outburst, an impulse made manifest, born out of an amalgamation of shock and instinct, the level zero, middle schooler girl's body was wracked by nervous shuddering, which only worsened as the vehicle's alarm began to scream its painfully loud tune, wailing.

Swiftly, the passenger's side door was flung open, evidently unlocked by the main participant in the act of grand theft auto.

"Seat's clear, you're good to sit, Saten," Tsubasa stated, with an uncharacteristic firmness; uncharacteristic in his interactions with her, at the least. "We can't afford to dawdle. I guarantee you they've got cams on us, now, and I guarantee you that suspicion's already up, you're not supposed to be a part of this. No one else is, just us."

Just who was this 'us'? Hamasaki Tsubasa had neglected to mention any sort of nefarious group behind the scenes by name.

And, so, disregarding her inquiries for a moment, Ruiko complied, even as her higher mind screamed at her to run as quickly as she could and escape the scenario unfolding before her, like the rotting pages of some grim, darkened tome whose rotting pages were better left unread.

Seating herself within the passenger's side seat, which had been cleared of glass shards, Ruiko's continuously shaking arm pulled the door shut. Instincts took the reins once more as she buckled herself up, strapping the passenger's side seatbelt over her chest.

"Are there keys?" Ruiko inquired, with a voice adorned in only the finest specimens of weakness and timidity.

In silent response to her inquiry, Hamasaki Tsubasa gathered, seemingly from nowhere, but in truth from his own Personal Reality, a handful of void energy. Flowing from his palm, with lengthy, whipping tendrils forming from within, and from its surfaces, the void itself mutated, and shifted, as it was placed near the vehicle's ignition, nearest the steering wheel, with its sweat-plastered and partially-torn surfaces of leather.

Shifting its shape before Saten Ruiko's eyes, Hamasaki Tsubasa's conjured mass of void took the shape of the key required for the turning of the vehicle's ignition. Sliding in without issue, until each groove latched successfully within, the fourth-ranked level five turned his wrist in place.

And, as if by magic, the vehicle roared to life. This, in fact, was the same method he'd used to enter the vehicle in the first place.

He was beyond lucky that the vehicle was clearly a nineteen ninety-nine model, or one quite possibly older; it still utilized a key-based ignition system, and lacked the voice recognition system patented by Academy City vehicular engineers in the year two thousand, the turning of the millennium.

With great force, Hamasaki Tsubasa swiftly switched gears, putting the vehicle into reverse; subsequently, he slammed the gas pedal with his corresponding foot, forcing the vehicle to reverse.

A small group of individuals, likely would-be heroes given the speed at which they'd taken to rushing toward the pilfered vehicle were made to leap out of the way as the object they sought to liberate rushed backward, closing the ever-shortening distance between its own three thousand pound form and the would-be heroes themselves.

Saten Ruiko, observing the passage of events from the passenger's side mirror fought back the urge to duck, and beat back the desire to cry out to be released.

If she did that, she'd accomplish nothing, and she'd be nothing. She finally had power, even if it wasn't a lot, even if it wasn't an esper ability, it was _something_. Saten Ruiko would be damned if she didn't use it to accomplish something, anything that she could associate herself with, and hold pride in.

To that very same tune, as Saten Ruiko posed an inquiry, both once Hamasaki Tsubasa had steered the vehicle from the Nature Park's designated parking area, and once the vehicle's alarm had finally ceased its incessant blaring, which, up until the point in which it'd gone quiet, both parties had thought to be never-ending.

"Hamasaki-san, c-can I ask you something?"

Over a speed bump the vehicle travelled, its driver exercising the utmost caution as he applied the vehicle's brakes some solid few seconds before the vehicle's encounter with the bump.

Having entered the appropriate lane on the stretch of roadway beyond the Nature Park, Hamasaki Tsubasa was quickly proving himself to be a cautious and almost surprisingly skilled driver.

"You're going to be fine, Ruiko, I've got this under control. Even if Anti-Skill pulls us over, I flash them a badge, and they come back from where they came, they'll turn tail like scared little puppies, trust."

"Thanks for the reassurance. It d-doesn't make this right, but thanks for that… you're thinking about my feelings. That's not what I was going to say though. I was g-going to ask who it is that we're trying to protect."

"That'd require a lot of catching up, on your part," Tsubasa stated, commanding he and Ruiko's pilfered vehicle with a tilt of its steering wheel, and a light, brief tap on the vehicle's brake, "here's the abridged version. Academy City made clones of the third-ranked level five, Railgu…"

"W-W-WHAT DO YOU _MEAN…_ c-clones? T-then the rumours a-are true, about… the number one, Accelerator? Oh… my…"

Saten Ruiko's heart thudded, repeatedly, and a rate far too quick to be considered healthy, especially for a girl her age. With this realization dawning, Ruiko repeatedly took deep breaths, as either of her hands fell to her knees, where their palms came to rest. Her fingers scrunched, and she produced a soft groan of struggle, and of discomfort.

"… if there're rumours about it, then, yes, they're true… Academy City made clones of the third-ranked level five, Railgun, using her DNA map, which researchers obtained through illegal and unethical methods – get used to it, Saten, everything this City does is illegal and unethical – and, through the use of numerous technological advancements available only here in Academy City, the Sisters were produced under the code-name "Project Radio Noise". Originally to be utilized as military operatives, when that fell through, they became fodder for Accelerator's development, and he wiped out…"

"Three thousand," Ruiko interjected, attempting not only to complete Hamasaki Tsubasa's sentence for him, but to prove her understanding.

Understanding which was then subsequently and unceremoniously shattered.

Performing a left turn, and ascending a ramp which lead towards the highway, the means in which Academy City's seventh school district would be reached, the fourth-ranked level five corrected the level zero.

"You're off by about nine thousand dead Sisters; the real number is closer to twelve thousand."

"T-twel… ve…?"

"Just over twelve thousand of them were torn apart, mowed down and treated like animals by Academy City and by Accelerator, who willingly took part in the whole thing, didn't once think about turning his power against Academy City until this crazy bastard knocked some sense into him. I'm not a Saint by anyone's definition, not my own especially, but I can't write down "has killed innocent people by the tens of thousands" on my Dark Side resume."

Another right turn.

The vehicle, at the behest of Hamasaki Tsubasa came to a halt, skidding slightly as it just barely stopped before the adjacent, cobbled crosswalk. Some students, but not many answered the proverbial, silent call of the blinking crosswalk lights, displaying a tiny man with a top hat and a cane striding forward, with a confidence bounce in his step.

Hamasaki Tsubasa gripped the pilfered vehicle's steering wheel, gritting his teeth as tears, salty, liquid agony dripped down Saten Ruiko's cheeks, escaping from the corners of her eyes and fleeing, dripping, falling from her face and down upon her Sakugawa Middle School uniform's skirt.

"It's horrible."

"You don't need to tell me that, I'm aware. Gladio, the black op I'm… involved… with, not by any choice of my own helped to fund the Level Six Experiments, the same Experiments that'd go on to birth Last Order."

"Not by any choice of your own? What… I don't even think I want to know what a "Last Order" is."

From crimson to bright, emerald green the stoplights flashed; Tsubasa and Ruiko's pilfered vehicle, along with others that had gathered both beside it and to its rear pushed themselves forward, commanded and forced to action. Being mere automatons, they were to only obey, never to decide, never to think. Even Academy City's vehicles lacked such functionality.

"They saved my life. Then they proceeded to hold it over my head. Last Order is the eight-year-old girl we're trying to keep from having her brains splattered across a wall," Tsubasa stated, with a calmness that both brought disturbance down upon the higher mind of and disgusted Ruiko.

"To summarize, Last Order's the Moderator of the Misaka Network. The clones operate through a hive mind, and each of the clones can all hear one another's thoughts. Last Order helps to keep them in check, and prevent any sort of catastrophes. Gladio dossiers have a lot of information about the whole Level Six Experiments. Wasn't supposed to go through them, but I did anyways, because I shit on them for fun."

A straightened stretch of roadway greeted the fourth strongest level five esper, and the 'powerless' level zero esper, the failure, the weak one.

She posed a query, her voice softened. Saten Ruiko's vision focused on the rear view mirror, mounted to her passenger's side door.

"Does… Misaka-san even know about the clones? If they're… her, what does that make them, her Sisters or something?"

Hamasaki Tsubasa's own vision remained focused on the road ahead of him, even as he spoke his response.

"The Third knows. Spent months trying to destabilize the Experiments on her own, got trashed by the Accelerator a couple of times when she thought that taking him out would fix it, and then… he stepped in. This… guy, an absolute madman goes and punches Accelerator's lights out, somehow."

"Is that a hard thing to do?" Ruiko inquired, utterly unawares as to the exact power possessed by the number one strongest esper in Academy City.

"If you know anything about the Accelerator's ability, and I wouldn't expect you to, being… a normal person on the Light Side, it's that he can manipulate any and all vectors, as long as he understands the source of the vectors. He's practically invincible. If he got a hold of the void produced by my Personal Reality for even a moment, that would be it, I wouldn't be able to touch him."

Saten Ruiko could only look down at her lap, as she and Tsubasa's pilfered vehicle carried on with its journey.

Misaka Mikoto, her friend, had faced down a monster like that by herself? She'd fought against an invincible foe. She must've had more than a "good" reason for doing so. Competitive as she'd been, she was no fool. Mikoto simply would not have thrown herself against a foe that she could not beat, through any means.

She must've been desperate, absolutely hopeless, to take such drastic measures.

"Misaka-san must've felt that the clones were family. What does Last Order have to do with any of this? If she's the 'Moderator' of this Network of clones, then…"

She would've continued, if the thought of an eight-year-old child being slaughtered didn't twist her stomach in on itself, therefore silencing her stream of vocalized words.

"I don't know about any of that," Tsubasa spoke, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, "I wasn't there, and the dossiers only cover so much. A lot of people would feel comfortable counting the clones as robots, or something, but every sign points to them being living, breathing people. Even if they were robots, who's to say that robots can't feel?

"Dossiers say that Last Order fled from the facility that was in charge of her "well-being" and hunted down the Accelerator following his defeat at the hands of the crazy guy. For some reason, he didn't immediately kill her.

"Guilt, maybe," Ruiko muttered.

"Doubt that. Gladio's tracked everything those two have gotten up to from that point," was a portion of Hamasaki Tsubasa's response, "and, suffice to say, they're… in a twisted way, like father and daughter. Still, no signs point to the fact that the Railgun herself is actually aware that one of her clones is currently in the custody of the Accelerator."

"If this Last Order is the bigwig of the clones," Ruiko began, "shouldn't she hate Accelerator for what he did to the other clones?"

"Stockholm syndrome is lovely this time of the year, I hear."

Silence descended upon the two individuals, level zero middle schooler and level five high schooler, within the pilfered vehicle; Saten Ruiko had a wide array of inquiries she could've posed, and, if the recently-faded proceedings were any indication, then, by all means, Hamasaki Tsubasa would have more than likely been able to answer them.

In truth, Ruiko didn't want to know anything more about the whole situation. It was sick, it was twisted, it was abhorrent, and it was horrid. She could only grip onto her skirt, nearly tearing the fabric of the clothing article with her nails.

Saten Ruiko's heart grieved for Misaka Mikoto, and for the twelve thousand lives lost, lives whose utter destruction most of Academy City mustn't have known even a smidgen about.

It was especially for that reason, with the passion of Misaka Mikoto alive in her higher mind, that Saten Ruiko strengthened her resolve.

She would do everything in her limited power to protect this "Last Order".

* * *

February 12th, 2004. 6:34 PM.

"So, this is it? This is the place where this Last Order girl is?"

"According to the directions I was provided with."

Hamasaki Tsubasa and Saten Ruiko gazed upward, from within their pilfered vehicle, up at the towering forty story behemoth of an apartment complex. Light brown in coloration, similar to the coloration of Academy City's cobbled streets, there was no doubt about it.

It was high-end; the styling of the windowpanes and the small, ornate sections of metallic gratings which surrounded each windowpane were like something taken straight from the long-forgotten design plan of some gothic castle.

Saten Ruiko, peering out from her passenger's side window stared onward, her blue eyes seemingly becoming transfixed. Suddenly incapable of moving, even with her higher mind's repeated commands, she tugged at the locking mechanism of the passenger's side door, which, to her surprise, actually managed to unlock the door.

How non-futuristic.

The level five Hamasaki Tsubasa soon joined his friend, the middle schooler level zero girl, who stood as tall, and with as much bravado as a middle schooler level zero girl could muster in the face of potential conflict, which, in this case, was very little at all.

Still, the determination etched onto her facial features was enough to impress the fourth-ranked level five.

Looking away from Saten Ruiko, and downwards, towards his smartphone, clutched in the palm of his hand, Hamasaki Tsubasa re-read the electronic message forwarded onto him by his employer.

Held as invisible and untouchable masses of data within the folder containing a map of the area were digitally enhanced and edited pinpoints, each of which served the function of highlighting locations of interest surrounding the apartment complex identified as Family Side. Included, among other points of interest was a small note regarding a restaurant where, if things turned sour, hostages could be taken in order to deter potential Anti-Skill 'heroes'.

More important to the fourth-ranked level five were the bits of information regarding the floor and room number which were relevant to "Operation Pacifier".

Whoever had come up with that name was an absolute, fetid twat. What did Gladio even pay those idiot field techies for?

Disregarding those thoughts, Tsubasa looked over the briefing within the digital, archived folder once more.

" _Relevant: Family Side apartment complex, seventh school district, thirteenth floor, second suite."_

Little did those Gladio pigs know that the entirety of their plans were about to come crashing down upon them.

Killing fully-grown men, and even women was one thing, so long as their homicide actually served a purpose, and wasn't simple committed for the sake of achieving some artificial end.

Hamasaki Tsubasa considered himself foolish, for a moment; the soles of his shoes contacted the surface of a cobbled roadway in Academy City, the place where, beneath those same cobbled streets, within the walls of warehouses and other innocuous structures, many of which would seem to be little more than abandoned, derelict relics to most, horrifying experiments were conducted on a near daily basis.

The fact that Academy City would be willing to dispose of some idiot child for profit, or, even, for the furthering of science shouldn't have been…

Zrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaassssshhhhhhhhhhh.

Through the center of the roadway adjacent to Family Side, a great surging ray of purple seared and sundered brickwork, shattered cobbled walkways, and tore the flesh of dozens, those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves simply in the wrong place, and at the wrong time.

From within the plume of opaque smoke rising from the ruined sections of cityscape, a shrill, high-pitched voice spoke aloud, vocalizing noises that were somewhere between words and beastly shrieks.

"You, you need to fuck off! This whole thing, this entire setup, the whole, entire fucking situation, the payout! This is all officially THE PROPERTY OF ITEM!"


	4. Voidwalker VS ITEM - II

There wasn't a great deal of time available for contemplation, at least on the part of Saten Ruiko, who could only look on for a moment, as, beneath her, her legs felt as if they might've suddenly collapsed beneath her.

Despite their apparent desire to buckle beneath the weight of her upper body, her legs found the strength to work. Saten Ruiko stepped back, shuddering, as the oxygenated air floating around her suddenly grew chilled.

Though the level zero middles schooler girl wasn't aware of it, her eyelids were widening with each second that passed. With each proverbial tick of the arms of the metaphorical clock, she moved backward.

Then, she snapped. Though not falling into the grips of any sort of psychosis, Saten Ruiko instead came to a sudden, brutal realization, one which sent a series of chills traversing her spine; curling inward, the fingers and either thumb on both of her hands clenched. Either of her formerly open hands formed into fists.

She was no longer powerless. She wasn't just a level zero middle schooler girl. Even if she lacked an esper ability, that didn't mean a thing. She had _a_ power. It was something, it was something that she could use to defend herself, and to help her loved ones out of rough patches. That was all that mattered, regarding the subject of power and abilities.

"Ruiko," Hamasaki Tsubasa whispered, nearly beneath his breath. Stepping forward, as opposed to backward, his tone of voice remained soft, each vocalization produced little more than a hushed, low whisper, "I need you to get yourself into Family Side, one way or another, just make it happen and I'll deal with whatever comes about myself; thirteenth floor, second suite. The clone, Last Order is there. Use your magic if you have to, don't be…"

She simply nodded, and offered the fourth-ranked level five a grin, glowing with confidence. In an equally soft tone of voice, she whispered back.

"I'm not afraid. I was planning on doing exactly that, Hamasaki-san. I'm going to save Misaka-san's… little Sister, even if I have to do the unthinkable. I'm going to help, I'm going to change the formula."

No response from afar came, not even as Mugino Shizuri, accompanied by a small, sweater-wearing girl with stockings, hair styled into a bobcut stepped out from the rising, pluming smoke the former had created.

The facial expression of the fifth-ranked level five suggested that, within her higher mind's confines, there was some sense of discomfort, of insecurity. Even as her eyebrows grew to become arched, even as several wrinkles formed across her brow, she seemed unsure of her course of action.

Of course it was ITEM. Hamasaki Tsubasa could only shake his head, inspired by the predictable nature of his employers' way of working through matters.

If they were going to take the easy way out, and hire mercenaries who could be utilized as a collective of "fall guys", then, by all means, it only made sense for Gladio to reach out to the best in the business.

At least Gladio hadn't skimped out.

And, so, as Saten Ruiko ran off, across the street and toward the apartment complex identified as Family Side, Mugino Shizuri did not attempt to halt the middle schooler girl's progress. The bobcut girl didn't stray from the side of the fifth-ranked level five, for reasons that were beyond Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked.

"I don't know what sort of deal you have with the Dark Factions," Mugino Shizuri remarked, the soles of her flats clacking against the shattered, sundered concrete beneath them, "but I do know for a fact that traitors are bound to die a traitor's death, it's just a principle as common as using polite manners. Think about it like this, too; I kill you, and I'm able to retake my spot as fourth. I don't know how or why you were advanced, possibly because your ability's research was more valu…"

Hamasaki Tsubasa moved ahead, as if he was some piece on a game board, moved about by the invisible hand of an omniscient prodigy. The bobcut girl started, for a moment, but didn't lose her cool. Spreading her legs, chunks, and smaller bits of broken, cobbled roadway crackled beneath the soles of her trainers. Others were ejected, forced outwards by the sheer pressure.

"So, you're Gladio's hit-squad? They're really going to try and knock out one of their own agents? Accuse me of treachery? 'Kay, fine, I can dig it. No, really, I'm liking the dedication… dedication. Something your stank ass doesn't have. I advanced because I'm stronger than you, because I'm what you could only hope to be. So… be a good girl AND DROP DEAD! I've got a cemetery picked out and EVERYTHING!"

A series of calculations were swiftly performed within the mind of the fourth-ranked level five; not long following the span of a few seconds, he rocketed forward as a great, forceful push of void energies mimicked the mechanics utilized in the combustion within a jet engine, including the compression of oxygenated air, the spraying of fuel and gas, and, finally, the 'spark' which would've resulted in the ignition of the concoction.

Carried by momentum, a wild grin of anticipation etched itself across the facial features of Hamasaki Tsubasa, whose thin layer of void energy, surrounding the entirety of his form, and blanketing him like a protective sheet deflected the bright, surging purple Meltdowner beams unleashed upon him from around the form of Mugino Shizuri, whose gritted teeth looked as if they were each about to crack and shatter into millions of fragments, so much pressure did she put upon them.

Why was he untouchable?

Was he a lesser form of the Accelerator?

Just what sort of cheat power did this brat wield?

Whatever it was, it was without a doubt one of the biggest ass-pains Mugino Shizuri ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with, even on more than one occasion.

His ability always _had_ seemed to be more defensive, than anything. At the very least, Mugino Shizuri had _that_ going for her. She was offensive. He was defensive. A game of cat and mouse, then.

Regardless of her logical considerations, the fifth-ranked level five's mounting frustrations grew; each of her particle beams, manifested through the use of her own Personal Reality crashed against the layer of void energy.

Each Meltdowner particle beam wasn't swallowed whole, like a series of bite-sized morsels shoved into the mouth of a starving diner patron, but rather, each crashed against the layer, and surged for a few moments, resulting in the forming of small, barely-noticeable 'dents'. Shortly following the forming of these 'dents', each beam was subsequently deflected, like a fist crashing against the surface of a wall.

There was a question that could've been posed; it was posed within Mugino Shizuri's higher mind, at least, travelling about of its own accord. Just how was the deflection of her Meltdowner beams even _possible_? The Railgun had encountered considerable trouble in dealing with them, and that trigger-happy zapper brat had been able to manipulate the beams' very trajectories with her own ability.

It was then that Kinuhata Saiai, who was perceived by Hamasaki Tsubasa as 'the bobcut girl' noticed an anomalous happening. Deep in her own thoughts, Mugino Shizuri was too preoccupied with keeping watch over her environment to pay mind to 'smaller' details.

Flowing about, upwards and downwards, almost comparable in its liquid movement to the surface of a body of water, there were multiple 'streams' of purple, climbing and descending the fourth-ranked level five's legs.

And, so, as soon as his feet made contact with the ground, both Kinuhata Saiai and Mugino Shizuri learned just what the anomalous happenings were indicative of.

Outward, from the tips of either of his shoes, a great and pulsing tidal wave of void energies, a wild, whipping mess, coloured many a shade of purple, black and darkened blue surged; moving with speed that would've been more appropriate for a motorized vehicle, as opposed to a nonliving, virtually shapeless mass born of an esper's Personal Reality. With swiftness it closed the distance between itself, the fifth-ranked level five esper and the level four ITEM member.

The physical element of pressure had been fully utilized, to the greatest extent that such a physical mechanic could've been. Effectively, mechanics similar to those found within the result of the forcible ejection of a coin from between a proverbial hand's metaphorical index finger and thumb had been manipulated and amplified within the calculations of Hamasaki Tsubasa's mind, resulting in the formation of the tidal wave.

Of course, Mugino Shizuri couldn't have guessed such a thing.

Kinuhata Saiai hadn't even given a second thought to the act of leaping in front of her partner in crime. Within the span of only a few moments' time, the level four Offense Armour user had taken to acting as a human shield, standing her ground, and facing down the darkened, multicoloured tidal wave without hesitation.

Something akin to the sound of thunder crashing from sky-sea of storm clouds was produced. Contact was made, even as twenty of Mugino Shizuri's Meltdowner beams sprayed outward from around the two members of ITEM, each of which surged through the oncoming, tidal mass, but didn't halt it.

Kinuhata Saiai was forced backward; subsequently, knocked from her small feet, she tumbled, and nearly struck the chest of the fifth-ranked level five, who'd barely managed to avoid her partner in crime, who'd been turned into human tumbleweed.

Steadying herself and gritting her teeth with such pressure, such nearly suffocating tightness that she could practically feel each tooth grinding against each tooth below it, Mugino Shizuri's vision locked with the eyes of Hamasaki Tsubasa, the level five esper who'd managed to best her prior.

Battered, bruised, and cut, but otherwise ready to rumble, Kinuhata Saiai rose, first to her knees, and then to her feet. Briefly, the level four Offense Armour user stumbled.

Aloud, Mugino Shizuri proclaimed, vocalizing her words in a pitch that was comparable to something between a ghastly shriek and a feral, animalistic cry.

"Kinuhata, goddamn idiot, can't you do _ANYTHING_ right?! You, ride-along, what the fuck kind of cheap-ass power do you use?!"

Kinuhata Saiai bit into her lower lip.

The words hurt. They stung like a dagger, thrust into her abdomen, twisted, tearing tendons and grinding against bone.

"Ahem! Cunt, please, if you would, allow me to offer you a long-winded and detailed explanation…"

Instead of continuing from where his vocalized response had trailed off, and faded into obscurity, Hamasaki Tsubasa merely shook his head, as he gathered masses of void energy in the palms of his hands. Standing his ground, he thought, deep within the depths of his higher mind a single thought, and many variants thereof.

" _Giving you the chance to do your thing,_ _Ruiko_ _, don't fuck it up, and try not to get yourself killed. I'll keep the fifth-rank skank and the loli off you as long as I can… wait. Weren't there… three… cunts in ITEM? Shiiiiitttt, fuck, fuck, not good, not good, code reeeeedddddddd! Change of gears, finish this fast."_

Hamasaki Tsubasa wasn't about to alert the fifth-ranked level five, Meltdowner, and the level four Offense Armour user to the fact that he'd temporarily experienced a near-death experience in the form of a dangerously close call with a cardiac arrest.

Instead, he summoned forth a wild grin, replacing what must've previously been a frown, as he spoke his continuation of his previous response.

"… Psyke, get fucked. Do you really think I'm going to sit here and just _tell_ you about what I can hurl at you? What would be the point in that?"

As void gathered further, practically dripping from the palms of his hands where it formed, the fourth-ranked level five's grin widened further, his eyelids widening as he suddenly stomped the broken, cobbled roadway beneath him.

Throwing his right hand outwards, palm upturned, both masses of void began to shift and shudder in place.

Kinuhata Saiai, who'd been in hot pursuit, apparently attempting to get up close and personal was experiencing the troubles of having second thoughts. She nearly danced away, backpedalling.

"Dumbass, don't get near him."

"S-sorry, Mugino."

"Just shut the fuck up, I'll deal with you once this is done."

Mugino Shizuri hadn't let up, not even a bit. Meltdowner beams, dozens at a time continued to tear at the cobbled roadway, exposing sections of mowed-down, dark brown Earth beneath. Some high-powered particle beams made contact with the fourth-ranked level five, but, seemingly as always, they accomplished very little, as each was deflected.

Then, both the young woman and the twelve-year-old girl stopped what they were doing, stopping the progression of their respective actions. Instincts temporarily took hold, forcing their thought processes to, in fact, a series of grinding halts.

Something was being formed.

Flowing from Tsubasa's palms, tendril-like growths seemed to be twisting together, bending and conjoining.

Within the span of a few seconds' time, it took shape, seemingly inspired by the quickened 'flow' of void energies 'powering' its 'creation'.

Nearly two hundred feet in height, the thing, formed of void energies, hues of lavender and dark, navy blue, these tones danced across the blackness that most of the miscreation's physical form. Its vaguely reptilian head, with its gaping maw filled to the brim with what resembled sharpened, razor-like fangs was almost too large for its body, and for its smaller, yet paradoxically broader shoulders. With elongated arms, the miscreation's four-fingered hands resembled the hooked feet of a bird of prey, more than a vaguely humanoid construct. Lacking legs of any sort, the construct's lower body resembled a monolithic and twisting funnel.

Within his higher mind, Hamasaki Tsubasa issued a single command to the lifeless construct, consisting of very few words; three, to name an exact estimate.

" _Keep Meltdowner occupied."_

In response to the miscreation's forming, Mugino Shizuri ejected many a Meltdowner beam, each originally formatting around her, falling into formation, like a line of toy soldiers off to fight in a war that existed only in some child's overactive mind.

From the spherical, conjured masses, they didn't fire outward.

Instead, a series of Meltdowner beams were fired outward and upward, effectively encasing the fifth-ranked level five in a shield.

The formation of this shield didn't halt the progression of the fourth-ranked level five's construct.

In fact, quite the opposite occurred.

The miscreation, born of void energies lurched forward, its arm arching outward and swiftly rising upward, just as, below, the level four Offense Armour user Kinuhata Saiai closed the last of the distance between herself and the fourth-ranked level five, Hamasaki Tsubasa.

"You're super not going to get off Scot-free with trying to kick my ass," Saiai commented, huffing slightly, as she circled the level five, individual beads of sweat dripping from her forehead.

"And, I'm supposed to give even a fraction of concern to your shitty threats? Hey, little girl… I have an idea…"

As the constructed brought into the world by Hamasaki Tsubasa crashed against Mugino Shizuri, the fifth-ranked level five, its massive, clawed hand deflected by her barricade of perpetually-surging Meltdowner beams, the fourth-ranked level five called forth a number of great, whipping appendages, each ending in hands. With three fingers, tipped with talons that seemed to be, quite literally, as sharp as razors, they rose from around him, from his back, and from either of his hips.

" _The last time we fought, the skank and me… I nearly made her lose her cool!"_

Two of several extremities were thrown outwards, their individual fingers uncurling, their palms outstretched, they were backed by another two, which rose upwards, and outwards.

Preoccupied by the construct miscreation, Mugino Shizuri was presented with few opportunities to actually aid her partner in crime.

Matters only seemed to be getting worse, as the telltale sirens, sirens all parties involved with the all-out brawl associated with Anti Skill blared in the distance, seemingly growing closer with each second worth of time that passed the three by.

Only two of the three parties involved could've truly said that they were concerned, even in the slightest.

Kinuhata Saiai attempted to roll. Bending downward, she prepared for her leg's muscles to perform the required movements. Leaning forward, she readied her arms, and…

This technique was immediately rendered less than useful.

One of several artificial limbs jutting from Hamasaki Tsubasa's back instantly moved inward, downward, and across, effectively sweeping the Offense Armour user from her feet, and, subsequently arranging for her an unceremonious meeting with a section of the shattered roadway.

" _Now, THAT would've been RIGHT ON TO SEE! I want to see the Meltdowner melt down!"_

Realizing she could only realistically maneuver herself so much, Kinuhata Saiai, instead of attempting to dodge the limbs seemingly hell-bent on tracing, following and, apparently, capable of predicting her every move merely rose and then stood her ground. With fists upwards, Kinuhata Saiai placed them some few inches away from her face.

Throwing a fist outward, she expected to meet one of the seven – though there'd originally been four of the conjured limbs, several more had emerged, seemingly from within the fourth-ranked level five.

Instead, no such clash occurred. Saiai could only stumble forward, awkwardly, momentum carrying her tiny frame forward, pushing her with considerable force.

Scavenging some shattered sections of the roadway beneath her, easily three times her size, and likely weighing more than her body's mass well over ten times, Kinuhata Saiai effectively dual wielded the chunks of rubble, seemingly prepared to utilize them as makeshift weaponry.

Instead of a clash, each limb of void energy was forcibly reeled back, and, sooner than later, each limb vanished, as each was fully retracted, seemingly disappearing upon the moment in which the hand of each limb made contact with physical existence of the fourth-ranked level five.

"Play time is OVER! There's not a thing I can learn from you! Maybe tearing your shit up will accomplish something! MELT DOWN, MELTDOWNER! SCREAM! Let me STUDY the anatomy of your cum-stained mind! Incest rape-baby! KILL YOURSELF!"

The fourth-ranked level five rushed Kinuhata Saiai, while a raging Mugino Shizuri, protected by ten Meltdowner beams, unleashed the searing rays of an additional ten directly into the form of Hamasaki Tsubasa's construct, which, apparently incapable of feeling pain, simply regenerated, 'healing' its 'wounds' shortly after receiving damage, whenever Tsubasa would hurl masses of void energy at its gargantuan form.

Strangely, the thing seemed limited in what it could accomplish. It outright avoided contact with structures, and even avoided contact with the roadway and walkways; when its lanky arms neared anything that could be damaged, with the exception of Mugino Shizuri's form, they bent unnaturally, becoming concave, and even shrunk in size to avoid contact.

While the fifth-ranked level five and the fourth-ranked level five's miscreation found one another at a stalemate, the fourth-ranked level five and the level four Offense Armour girl were in no such predicament.

The former had nearly closed the entirety of the distance between himself and the latter who, while shaken, wasn't about to give in. Instead, she prepared herself for round… something, round something or other. She'd lost count of just how many blows they'd traded, even in a rather short expanse of time.

"Is it really worth the money?! What is it that _drives_ you people?! Fully aware that Gladio loves their mercs, but, shit! I didn't know mercs loved their Gladio! Ambition, an addiction to life's finer things, paid for with dirty yen? I MUST KNOW! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS! The anticipation is just KILLING me!"

"I could super ask you the same question, bro. What do you have to gain from fighting Mugino and me? You're super a killer, just like both of us. The kid and the old ladies are super none of your business, none of ours, either. It's super just a job."

"I wasn't aware that _not_ being a child-killer was a special trait, these days. We _are_ on the same page, yes?"

In response, Kinuhata Saiai simply shook her head, from side to side, "no".

"The kid's super not going to die; Academy City needs her for something."

Hamasaki Tsubasa stopped in his tracks, suddenly staring wide-eyed at the level four Offense Armour user for a moment, before his dilated pupils locked with the darkened, brown-coloured irises of Kinuhata Saiai.

"Ho… hooooooly shit, you're naive as… shit. As soon as the kid's outlived her usefulness, that's it, into the trash she goes. As far as maniacs go, I at _least_ try to keep standards, no civilians, uninvolved women and absolutely no children… no children."

Saiai never loosened her grip upon her scavenged, makeshift weapons. Not even for a moment did she consider even the thought of letting them go. Their usefulness was vast; they could be utilized as a makeshift shield, wielded and swung like two enormous, misshapen baseball bats, or even thrown like great projectiles. They were simply too valuable to abandon.

As was her life.

Her fingers twitched, for a moment.

For the briefest of moments, the thought of fleeing crossed her mind, growing in prevalence, and pounding at her higher mind's proverbial walls with its metaphorical fists, demanding to be acted upon.

Again, and again, as Hamasaki Tsubasa stared her down, with lips moving but, from her perspective, producing no words, sweat dripped down from Kinuhata Saiai's brow, along her cheeks, and downward, slipping over the bridge of her nose.

No. She couldn't flee, she just couldn't. She'd done exactly that during the period of time in which SCHOOL had been hell-bent on fulfilling their own goals, while Academy City's then-weakened state of security.

She'd fled like a damned coward, and Mugino Shizuri had nearly taken her head for it.

If she fled, and Mugino lived, that would be it. The level four Offense Armour user would be running for the rest of her days. A second offering of uncharacteristic mercy from Meltdowner was an impossibility. Kinuhata Saiai couldn't rely on it, couldn't bet on it either.

But, was that a true friend? Was that someone who should've been relied upon? Was that someone who should've been trusted, someone who deserved to have their own life shielded?

It was then that Saiai noticed something different, indeed.

The lips of the fourth-ranked level five had stopped moving. Hanging almost limply at his sides, Tsubasa's arms swung, like branches in a light breeze, forward and backward, ever so slightly.

"KINUHATA, fucking KILL him, what are you _DOING_?! Move, do SOMETHING! Get this thing… off… me… KILL HIM, KILL IT! OR I'LL KILL _YOU_!"

A series of Meltdowner beams, ten in total, were unleashed upon Hamasaki Tsubasa's construct, even as Mugino Shizuri shrieked aloud, her head thrown back in a display of wild fury.

Aside from harmlessly tearing through its body which seemed to apparently be capable of perpetual regeneration so long as it was 'supplied' with additional void energy by its creator, Shizuri's high-powered particle beams seemed only to damage the structures and environments around Shizuri, and not her target itself.

Perhaps, if she could somehow unleash all twenty, or, with some luck, even more than twenty upon the ugly miscreation, she could somehow best it, outdo that damned perpetual regeneration. Maybe, if she could come up with more than twenty, Shizuri could even break through the Voidwalker brat's barrier, destroying whatever nasty shit said barrier was made of.

Then, Hamasaki Tsubasa posed an inquiry, one which snapped Kinuhata Saiai from her apparent daze.

He'd take another route. Complete and utter annihilation was one thing, but, there'd be nothing learned from that.

An opportunity had presented itself, and Hamasaki Tsubasa would be damned if he didn't at least _attempt_ to abuse it for his own gain.

As far as he'd known, there must've always been an obvious rift between the level four Offense Armour user and the fifth-ranked level five Meltdowner. There was, quite literally, not even a singular 'good' reason for him NOT to jam the proverbial wedge in, and strive to subsequently drive the metaphorical gap further.

"Are you really just going to take this, like some kind of little battered wife? You're just going to let this menstruating joke of a psychopath threaten you?"

Simply killing Mugino wouldn't benefit the higher-ups whose good graces Hamasaki Tsubasa needed to keep himself in. So long as she didn't turn her focus to the point of interest, Family Side, the game of cat and mouse could be permitted to continue. Simply, it'd have to be.

Denying them of their chance to mess with the little girl, the clone, "Last Order" was going to irk them enough as it stood.

If there was something the fourth-ranked level five could offer them in exchange, then, all the better.

Hamasaki Tsubasa had goals to accomplish, after all.

For a moment he shrugged, even as fifth-ranked level five Mugino Shizuri screamed aloud, proverbially hurling verbal insults, and threatening the fourth-ranked level five's life.

"I can see taking it, I honestly can see that. Do what you've got to do for the payout, right? Not unlike any other job… but just like any other job, you can just…"

" _Quit_."

The word practically rolled from the fourth-ranked level five's tongue, accented and spoken in an almost hushed, low whisper.

"Walk out. Some jobs just aren't worth it, baby doll. Smack-talking co-workers are a thing everyone's got to put up with, but… a smack-talking boss? That's another. Boss's supposed to be the person you run to. She's always pulling this on you. Remember when we worked together? You and the little blondie girl, you ladies might as well be footstool number one and footstool number two. You're nothing but her hounds."

"DON'T… FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG…. LISTEN… TO HIM! KINUHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"I super…"

"You won't get anywhere following this skank around and doing her bidding, like a good little girl. Expand your horizons, baby doll, look to bigger and better things. You're nowhere close to being powerless; you could easily start your own crew, and get things done for yourself, and take the full payout, plenty of Skill-Outs who need competent leaders. For once, baby doll, you could be in charge."

Taking a step forward, many scattered bits of rubble were ejected, as the soles of his trainers crunched down upon them, not unlike the jaw of a great, lurking alligator crunching down upon the form of an unsuspecting prey item.

Feeling not unlike prey herself, Kinuhata Saiai started; yet Hamasaki Tsubasa took no action against her. Instead, he extended his arms, and tilted his head, from one side, and then to the other; it produced a series of cracking noises, and, in response to the array of sounds produced, the fourth-ranked level five groaned in pleasure.

"Take off, baby doll, and you'll never see my face again. I won't bother you… and the skank won't, either. I've got plans for her. I'll make it quick, and, besides, think about in this way. We'll be furthering science's understanding _and_ ridding the world of a clownshit crazy bitch."

Hamasaki Tsubasa's construct attempted, and subsequently failed to backhand Mugino Shizuri; her Meltdowner shield acted as a reflective surface, and easily, almost effortlessly repelled the miscreation's attempt at physical harm.

What the mindless thing didn't know, was incapable of knowing, was the fact that Mugino Shizuri was struggling to maintain said Meltdowner shield.

Quick bursts were virtually nothing within the realm of calculation difficulty, when compared with even one constantly-maintained stream. Maintaining even half a dozen of them – ten beams had some time ago become virtually impossible for her slipping mind, throbbing within her skull – was coming closer to being a near impossibility.

Despite this strain, Mugino Shizuri managed to scream once more, throat feeling as if it was being torn apart by the sharpened blade of a knife, as her vocal cords acted on her higher mind's commands.

"KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Even if you manage to somehow throw me off," Hamasaki Tsubasa remarked, facing the raging, shrieking level five, "she's probably going to fry you, just because she's throwing a temper tantrum. You know it, too, don't you? For just how long have you and the blondie lived in fear of this… creature? Just run, take off, and have a second chance. Psycho fifth will be in the dirt. Everyone… deserves a second chance."

Kinuhata Saiai could only grit her teeth, for a moment.

The sirens were growing nearer. Their screeches, their constant, seemingly never-ending cries, repeating, looping over, and over, they grew louder, and they threatened to shatter the Offense Armour user's very tympanic membranes. The screaming of tires against cemented, cobbled roadway accented the screeching sirens, further wracking the twelve-year-old girl's mind.

A dank, unfeeling cell, or, perhaps, some sort of swift execution. She was Dark Side, after all, not just some esper who'd been out misusing their power and causing mild property damage.

Like there was some great, expansive pit within the depths of Kinuhata Saiai's lower chest, her stomach felt as if it was suddenly falling, in place.

Then, there was a sudden roaring, followed by vaguely electrical hissing, comparable to the noises produced by a damaged piece of electronic hardware, whose wiring was exposed and sparking.

Three searing, enormous Meltdowner beams surged forth from the form of the shaking, stumbling Mugino Shizuri; each beam seemed almost uneasy, as each grew and shrunk in size, perpetually.

The fifth-ranked level five's mind reeled. Her eyelids threatened to close of their own accord, denying her higher mind's repeated commands to remain open.

Just what the _Hell_ was Kinuhata doing?! The fourth-ranked Voidwalker stood mere inches away from her. She'd armed herself, she'd scavenged rubble; even if her makeshift weaponry was deflected by whatever sort of barrier the fourth-ranked level five utilized, as part of his damnable esper ability, the effort alone would've won her unvoiced, mental praise.

She'd given everything to that stupid brat; roofs over her head, decent meals, beds to sleep in, usually-consistent work, more consistent than what she could've found elsewhere, within Academy City's dark and unforgiving underbelly.

The construct that troubled Mugino Shizuri never tired. It never stopped, and it never so much as hesitated. Either of its massive palms crashed against Shizuri's faltering Meltdowner barrier, consisting of three rising, and shrinking beams. Her head throbbed, her forehead ached.

She, Mugino Shizuri, was forced to face the music; an uncomfortable tune, one which Shizuri was hardly in the mood to hear. The metaphorical song's proverbial lyrics were not the sort that Shizuri wished to pay even a sliver of attention to.

She, even as the fifth-ranked level five, one of the strongest espers on planet Earth, was a human being, and she could only accomplish so much.

And, so, the tide changed further.

What had once been calm, and, by the standards of most, an almost idyllic street, surrounded by innocuous apartment complexes, friendly neighbourhood communities and academic facilities, where the espers who flocked to Academy City sought to bolster their collective ability development had been warped into a war zone.

If all three combatants involved hadn't seen their fair share of nightmarish scenarios, perhaps the environmental changes would've cut deeper.

Surrounded on all sides, Anti Skill personnel piled out from their vehicles. Large, armoured vans, adorned with white, vertical stripes, and decorated with Anti Skill's logo, each possessed an elongated light fixture, flashing in sync with the non-tune of the sirens' mechanical wails.

The officers of Anti Skill, numerous enough to even be referred to as a small army at the very least hid behind their riot shields. Large things, constructed with metallic frames supporting rectangular fibreglass structures within, one among them, a woman, if the individual's gender was to be judged upon the tone and inflection of their voice spoke aloud, her voice amplified as it passed through the mouthpiece of a megaphone.

"Stop where you are, and let us see those hands in the air! Refusing to co-operate with Anti Skill personnel will result in…"

"Code Gladio seven zero five twenty-two, **Anti-Skill authority overridden**. Further interference in Gladio affairs will result in penalization."

Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five flashed from within the right pocket of his pants a small badge, contained within his simplistic leather wallet. Held high, the badge was put on display for most, if not all within the immediate area to visualize.

Mere moments following his producing of the queer, white and blue emblem, Tsubasa returned his wallet to his pocket.

The legion of Anti-Skill officers seemed to stop, suddenly, in their collective tracks. The megaphone user, hidden behind her riot shield had ceased to vocalize any words at all. Though many a hushed whisper was produced by the small army of peacekeepers, they spoke only among themselves.

Once clenched, the pieces of rubble held by Kinuhata Saiai fell from her grip, and to the ground, where they came to rest atop one another.

"Fuck this, and super fuck Mugino," Saiai remarked, firmly; despite, or perhaps, because of her words, the level four Offense Armour user's lower lip seemed to buckle, as her form quivered awkwardly. "This is dead end, super rock bottom. You super leave me alone, and I'll super leave you alone. No job, no loyalties are super worth dying for."

" _Hamazura and Takitsubo made the right decision to run. Even if we get out of this, Mugino would probably kill me and Frenda, just because."_

The concept of loyalty once again crossed Kinuhata Saiai's mind.

But what even _was_ loyalty? Was loyalty something that Mugino Shizuri could understand? Kinuhata Saiai remembered overhearing the words her 'employer', or, at least, the individual whom she could consider to be her 'boss' had spoken to then-fifth ranked level five, the recently-crowned fourth-ranked level five who stood before her, offering her a chance at freedom.

" _Frenda and Kinuhata are completely expendable extensions of my own will, as are you, so don't get in my fucking way,_ _you_ _ride-along."_

Within the confines of his higher mind, Hamasaki Tsubasa uttered a simple command, not to himself, but to the construct he'd formed with his Personal Reality.

" _Interrupt Meltdowner's Personal Reality, inflict pain, but don't kill."_

Anti Skill's legion of officers, reluctantly returning from whence they came, did not act, and did not even attempt to aid the battered, sweat-drenched Mugino Shizuri, who'd come to find herself with a large, sharpened clawed finger forced directly through her right arm.

Piercing directly through her elbow, and emerging on the other side, Shizuri, the fifth strongest esper in all of Academy City, on the entire planet lacked the strength to even cry out. The pain, the fatigue, the fact that she'd been worn down like some sort of beast long-pursued by game hunters had all taken their toll.

Mugino Shizuri could barely even summon forth more than a few orbs of electromagnetic particles. They formed, but, the fact that she could form them was null and void. Each was transparent, and seemed to flash in and out of existence, like synthetic light turned off and on with the flick of a wall-mounted switch.

"KiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnuuuuuuuuuuuuuHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Throwing her makeshift weapons to the ground, Kinuhata Saiai, at first, took two mere steps back.

Then, another, which followed the previous steps, and another; five in total had been taken, within the span of mere seconds, which felt more like a journey across the entire globe, in the perception of the Offense Armour user's higher mind.

With a huff, she turned on her heel, and she fled.

And, so, in response, the construct that'd not only troubled, but had worn Mugino Shizuri down, practically to the proverbial bone faded from existence, dismissed by its 'creator'.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, always ready to tackle a situation before said situation could not only get out of control, but begin to transpire before he could take steps to control it, began to perform a series of rather complex calculations.

Distance, the distance between himself and Mugino Shizuri, measured in meters. Without a calculator of any sort, save his mind's own accumulated mathematical and scientific skills. The distance between himself, the apartment complex identified as Family Side, and the other various structures, high-rise or otherwise that surrounded the area, including restaurants and various ability development facilities.

Thirty meters, and thirty meters, in a circular pattern; with the calculations set in place, the fourth-ranked level five's Personal Reality began to work its science.

Accented by the ringing sound of many crackles, one produced after another, others produced 'atop' one another, overlapping, and combining, to birth thunderclap-like booms, a great dome of void energy surrounded the fourth and fifth-ranked level fives, blocking out the sights, sounds and tastes of the world beyond its literal sphere of influence.

The only source of light within the dome, which prevented the area of effect from being pitch black was a nearby streetlight, which had automatically activated in accordance with the darkness that'd fallen, adapting on its own.

Swiftly, just as Mugino Shizuri was apparently able to rise to her feet, her legs seemingly able to just barely support her body's weight, Hamasaki Tsubasa applied a simple deflection formula to the dome, through the use of surprisingly basic mathematic calculations, and his Personal Reality.

It was almost as if she, the fifth-ranked level five was making the entire thing too easy.

"Not all that nice being on the receiving end."

"Shut… the fuck up… you motherfucking monster."

"Ho, that's rich coming from you, Meltdowner. You can dish it out, but you can't take it. I hope you realize that you are, and always have essentially been fodder."

Tripping, as she stumbled through a pothole, an enormous gouge in the cobbled roadway that she, herself had created with her own ability's power made manifest, Mugino Shizuri steadied herself, as best she could, and straightened her back. Rolling her shoulders, the eyes of the fourth and fifth-ranked level fives locked.

"Like I give a shit what you think I am," Shizuri commented. "You're just a ride-along, so, do what ride-alongs are supposed to do, and follow orders! The order I give you is to DIE!"

Destroying Mugino Shizuri, in her present state, wouldn't have accomplished Hamasaki Tsubasa's endgame goal. It wouldn't have accomplished anything even resembling a goal. It only would've served to act as a convenience, a means of quickly getting rid of a problem that was easily handled, a problem that could easily be utilized, in order to further his own machinations.

He'd have to poke the bear at an even swifter rate, and with even more force than he already had.

She was angry – some might've even referred to her as being 'livid' – but she wasn't quite angry enough. Mugino Shizuri possessed, untapped potential, yes, that fact was likely among Gladio's most blunt and simplistic information gathered through prodding in Academy City's data-banks.

That potential was entrapped, ensnared within her higher mind's survival instincts. So long as her mind possessed the will to live, then the true potential, the sliver of progress made towards the fabled level six would not be seen, ever.

But, like with every padlock, there was a key.

Mugino Shizuri, only partially aware that the Dark Side of Academy City saw her as something of a stepping stone towards the achieving of the goal known as SYSTEM, found herself beyond surprised when, rather than hurling some sort of construct at her, or lashing at her with one of those arm-like appendages, Hamasaki Tsubasa instead chose to rush her, head-on.

Standing her ground, the fifth-ranked level five, too stubborn to abandon the battlefield, and, by extension, her partner in crime Frenda Seivelun, too filled with fury, hatred, betrayal, and sorrow, all welling up into some great, all-consuming amalgamation of negativity, threw her head back in a savage display of fury, and willed with all of her might as many spheres of electromagnetic particles as she could.

Three formed around her, blinking in and out of being, circling one another and performing odd, stuttering, jittery movements.

Before she could even attempt to unleash a high-powered Meltdowner beam from within a single sphere, the deflective barrier of void around the fourth-ranked level five esper fell, and, as it did, his left hand, fingers and thumb curled, clenched into a fist, crashed against the side of Mugino Shizuri's face.

From her point of view, from within her own perspective, time practically slowed to a crawl, even as, in reality, it flowed as it always did.

A trail of saliva, forced from the corner of her mouth, was ejected outward. A great, unsightly glob of the stuff dripped down her chin from between her teeth, before it too became airborne; the force of Mugino Shizuri being knocked backward from the vicious right hook delivered onto her gave the globs of salivary gland secretions leaking from her open mouth the momentum they needed, in order to achieve 'flight'. Her eyes closed, as tears of pain welled in their corners, and threatened to leak down her cheeks.

Hamasaki Tsubasa's right fist came, then, and his left came again. One, two, one two, Mugino Shizuri was knocked about like a rag doll.

To the nose which immediately resulted in its violent bending which was accented by a loud crunching of bone. From Shizuri's nostrils, lifeblood fled freely, not unlike in intensity or in speed the flows of a waterfall.

To the chin came another vicious uppercut which resulted in her lower jaw's teeth clacking violently against the upper row.

A blow delivered to her chest, the fourth-ranked level five's fist found its mark some few feet away from the fifth-ranked level five's breasts, close to the interior location of her stomach itself. With the very wind knocked from her lungs, with a gasp, and a brief, barely-audible cry of pain, the battered Mugino Shizuri collapsed, like a structure crumbling, wracked by the kinetic force of an explosion.

Above her, feet firmly planted upon what remained of the cobbled roadway consumed by the dome of void energies made physical, Hamasaki Tsubasa had not even a scratch upon his form. Aside from having worked up a light sweat in his beating of the fourth-ranked level five, he was utterly unmarred.

"It's hardly a wonder ITEM languished under your leadership," he remarked, as if he was passively discussing the day's weather, "all you can do is scream death threats at people and bark orders. What a gloomy state of affairs. You really are the worst. Even Accelerator was able to back up his tough talk, you fucking bum."

Coming to a rest beside her, crouching upon one knee, Hamasaki Tsubasa placed either of his hands around Mugino Shizuri's neck.

Applying pressure, tightening his fingers' grip, his own flesh pushed inward, contacting Shizuri's surprisingly soft, almost silky smooth skin.

He'd always expected her to have reptilian scales underneath a thin layer of rubber flesh. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

"But I guess there's need for you to worry about ITEM now. Where you're going, there won't be any ITEM, no Academy City, no life. It'll be like you're asleep, restful right?"

Mugino Shizuri physically reacted to the forceful denial of necessary life-giving resources; a kick of her leg, a twitch of her fingers, and a failed attempt first at inhaling oxygenated air, and then at coughing.

"Don't consider yourself the victim. You were about to hand a little kid over to Academy City's darkness without a second thought, so, you're not in any position to be embracing victim-hood! CHILD-KILLER! CHILD-KILLER! You kill babies for a living! Go work in abortion clinic! Ring, ring! Now calling Dr. Mugino! THEY! DON'T! NEED! YOU! The bobcut girl ran off, because you're a psychotic, evil skank! CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNT!"

The dome surrounding the level five espers flickered, for a moment's time.

And, emanating, glowing around the form of Mugino Shizuri, the fifth-ranked level five, one of the strongest espers produced by Academy City's Power Curriculum was a thin, barely-visible layer of purplish-white light.

Nearly expired, hardly with the energy to even cling to life, Hamasaki Tsubasa released the throat of Mugino Shizuri, and stepped away, quickly re-applying his deflective barrier of void energy to his body's form.

With a chuckle, the fourth-ranked level five watched on; as if she was lifted from the ground by a force invisible to his eyes, beyond his mind's comprehension, Shizuri rose from the sundered, once-cobbled roadway. Eyes rolled into the back of her head, tongue lolling, mouth agape, enormous, whipping, tendon-like growths, purplish-white in coloration emerged, jutting from her spine.

The gambit had paid off. It was forced, a runaway esper ability, a Personal Reality gone rampant.


	5. Saten Ruiko VS Frenda Seivelun

For the span of a moment's time, Hamasaki Tsubasa had believed that her transformation, limited as it was, though both admirable and noticeable, had come to an end, that, at it'd reached its peak, the total affect it could possibly have on the world around it.

Apparently, that conclusion was simply not correct, as the transformation, and the subsequent mutations that wracked Mugino Shizuri's body continued, unabated.

The fourth-ranked level five watched on from within his constructed dome of void energies made physically manifest, as the fifth-ranked level five began to gradually, and perpetually mutate.

From her shoulders, jutting from the sides of her neck like a series of ugly tumours came many bulbous, enormous and perpetually-sparking masses of purplish-white light, most of which were only semi-solid. From her kneecaps, great, stalagmite-like protrusions, seemingly constructed from 'hardened', purplish-white matter of some anomalous origin were forced outward, pointing directly in Tsubasa's direction.

At first, nothing out of the 'ordinary' – whatever 'ordinary' could actually be defined as – occurred. Nothing particularly queer, nothing off-putting. The transformation, and the subsequent mutations continued to occur, yet, these were the only developments, in terms of the Meltdowner's oncoming **meltdown**.

The truth of the matter, unknown to Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five was that the fifth-ranked level five, Mugino Shizuri, the mastermind and commander of ITEM – or what was left of ITEM – was just barely clinging to her slipping sanity as her mind rebelled against her, spurred by pain and its own attempts to understand power it couldn't possibly begin to comprehend.

This desperate, failing clinging alone was solely what prevented the outcome Hamasaki Tsubasa sought to witness.

Paradoxically, it was the witnessing of what she was becoming, the volatile, sparking mutations her body was undergoing that threatened to push her completely and utterly over the edge, and tumbling downward into the proverbial, gaping maw of insanity.

It was looking at him, too.

Him, that cheating, wretch of a ride-along, the damnable brat who'd stolen her thunder, made a fool of her and then again had made a fool of her right in front of her own underlings.

The situation, the unravelling of her higher mind, the volatile, sparking, mindbogglingly painful mutations, they were _his_ fault, all of it was his fault, he'd done everything.

He'd tormented her, tortured her very soul, taken from her the only thing she'd held dear, her status as the fourth-ranked level five, one among the strongest in Academy City – no, not _just_ in Academy City, in all of the world.

First, it'd been that electricity brat, the little princess runt from Tokiwadai Middle School. Then, it'd been the Voidwalker brat.

For all of her strengths, for all of her hardships, Mugino Shizuri was nothing more than a doormat. What did she have to show for her efforts? Failure.

If she, Mugino Shizuri, was going to die, she'd take _him_ with her.

And, so, as she hacked forth a glob of crimson lifeblood, practically vomiting the life-giving liquid from within her throat like it was some amalgamation of saliva and phlegm, Mugino Shizuri's lips curled, upwards, into a crooked, wild grin; one of malice, one of contempt, one of hatred.

The Meltdowner's True Face slipped into reality, as the lingering mask of sanity fell.

Even as lifeblood streamed downward from the corners of her eyes, from within her nostrils, dripping from the corners of her mouth, and from just about every other orifice one both could and couldn't observe, even as her entire body felt as if it was about to implode, Mugino Shizuri focused as best she could.

With a mere gathering of her wits, so many, many glowing, purplish-white spheres formed, seemingly from out of thin air around the level five Meltdowner.

First, there were ten, each appearing around her, circling her, flashing in and out of existence not unlike a flickering and dying light bulb.

Then, following suit within the span of milliseconds, there were a hundred of them. Each blinked into being, and, with each sphere, a burst of lifeblood was ejected from within the Meltdowner.

Unrestrained, each fired a surging, searing Meltdowner beam.

Gathering around her form like so many flies to a rotting, stinking piece of discarded fecal matter, each unleashed its 'payload' in a random direction; some fired upwards, others downwards, others to the left and to the right.

Some spheres fired their respective 'payloads' even as they rapidly spun in place.

Not unlike a symphonic soundtrack played over an action scene in a big-budget action film, the feral, unhinged scream, sounding more akin to something produced by a wild animal suffering from an infection of rabies than a fully-grown human being accented the brutalist light-show.

The void, a largely unknown cosmic power beyond the elements of Earth took the brunt of many hits, many searing and surging high-powered electron cannons. 'Dents', forming in the invisible, deflecting 'field' that hovered mere inches from Hamasaki Tsubasa's body, like an unseen, extra layer of skin became visible. Tendrils, not unlike lavender-coloured smoke in their collective appearances drifted outward, upward and downward from each individual point of impact.

With one final, 'spectacular' flash of purplish-white, overtaking the entirety of the space allocated for movement within the constructed dome of void, all fell silent and all fell dark.

Left within were enormous craters, great, jagged gouges, digging deep even into the Earth beyond the cobbled roadway, most of which had been torn up and tossed around like so many toys whipped around by an ignorant child, or destroyed entirely, unaccounted for.

The once-sole source of light within the constructed dome of void energy, the lamppost had been severed, torn apart, not even merely in half, but ripped asunder at more than one point. Torn both horizontally and diagonally, metal had been shredded, and internal wiring had been exposed.

Then, the dome dissipated; fading from existence, it exited the plane inhabited by humans, mortal and immortal alike with a crackle.

Seeing multicoloured spots within his field of vision, and drenched in a thick, grimy layer of sweat, but otherwise unharmed, Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five stood alone among the wreckage.

Not even a shred, not even a mere particle, not even a singular cell that'd once belonged to the greater cellular mass of Mugino Shizuri, the once-fourth ranked, and then fifth-ranked level five esper remained.

Just as expected, just as predicted, just as it should've been.

Hopefully, _they'd_ been watching. Hopefully, _they'd_ been paying attention to the proceedings. He wasn't completely unreasonable. He, Hamasaki Tsubasa, was willing to cut a deal, to compromise.

With little else to be done, the fourth-ranked level five began to leap out from within the enormous, asteroid-sized crater produced by the usage of the formerly-living Mugino Shizuri's runaway level five Meltdowner ability, aided by jutting parodies of human limbs, 'constructed' from raw void energies.

It was elsewhere, within his towering, Windowless Building that Aleister Crowley, onlooker, listener and recorder of events, he who was the judge, jury and executioner nodded his head, once, causing the liquid about him to shuffle, and temporarily become disturbed, as ripples were forced outwards, from the point in which the action was taken.

The potential for development of a **level six** remained. The fourth-ranked level five esper's willingness to compromise was more than what could be said for most of his compatriots.

He, with little bumbling about, without remorse, seemingly with very little trouble at all had dispatched another level five completely.

It was fine. Meltdowner had long ago outlived its usefulness; the trash had simply been taken out. Another name would be added, etched onto the Parameter List, and another would inevitably become the fifth-ranked level five esper.

Most had outlived their collective usefulness, in fact.

Topics aside from the fourth-ranked level five, Voidwalker, topics of interest were limited to the number seven, the Gemstone Attack Crash, simply due to the abstract, absurdist nature of his existence in and of itself, and the number one, the Accelerator, the latter of whom had become utterly useless, without a doubt, following its bond with the Misaka Network Moderator Last Order. That was if the 'Main Plan' even lived. Aleister could find no confirmation of its death, nor of its continued existence.

With the former of the two potentially beyond the capabilities of Academy City's understanding, and the latter of the two an unsuitable candidate for ascension, the Voidwalker reopened doors Aleister Crowley had long thought to be doomed to stay shut.

Even a basic understanding of elements beyond the comprehension of most mortal minds was relevant reasoning for ascension candidacy.

Perhaps, if time would allow it, Aleister Crowley, Academy City's General Superintendent would have to get in touch with the fourth-ranked level five, regarding that 'goal' of his. Indeed, as it turned out, Gladio's Director had the right of things, at least regarding the achieving of SYSTEM.

Voidwalker's name wouldn't have been added to the Parameter List without reason, after all. For a moment, a small, thin smirk etched itself upon the facial features of Aleister Crowley, the world's worst magician.

If anything, working towards the fabled ascension, the achieving of SYSTEM would likely prove an interesting, if convoluted time-waster.

Bang.

Bang.

Clack, clack click, and a clack, apparently tacked on simply for good measure.

Bang.

Ensnared, bound like an animal caught within the rusted, jagged jaws of a game hunter's trap, Saten Ruiko had stalled within the twelfth staircase, leading upward, towards Family Side's thirteenth floor. Nothing physically impeded her progress, and, aside from the stiffening carcass that'd once held a human life, tossed haphazardly, half-way down the second of two staircases, she found herself alone; no criminals, no pseudo-radicals attempted to halt or harm her, for they simply didn't exist.

Saten Ruiko was held back only by her own higher mind's constant, incessant demands to flee, as quickly as she possibly could.

Finding herself without so much as even a blunt weapon to defend her life, if push did come to shove, Ruiko would've, perhaps could've, relied upon the mysterious power she'd only recently stumbled upon.

Yet there were no writing materials to be found, nothing which could be utilized to craft a Magic Circle, nor even draw up some simple runes. A true magician would have come prepared.

Once more, it seemed that she, Ruiko, the middle-schooler girl was powerless, a level zero, just an ordinary girl once more. Then again, that was hardly the truth of the matter. 'Ordinary girls' didn't often, or ever find themselves in the vicinity of what must've been, judging by the repeated, thunderous claps, a gunfight.

Ruiko, gripping the handrail, her right hand's fingers and thumb tightening around the elongated, rounded metallic surface, shuddered. She bit into her lower lip, sinking her teeth into the soft, exposed flesh as the exchanging of gunfire continued.

"MISAKA doesn't… DOESN'T WANT you to go, Kikyou, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, worried for her beloved friend's safety and well-being in the dangerous situation unfolding before her!"

Saten Ruiko's eyelids widened, as many, many more than 'a few' questions swirled within the confines of her higher mind.

There was a particular tone about the voice, a certain layer of intensity, raw, flowing emotion; the words were so loudly vocalized, they could apparently pass virtually unabated through solid concrete.

Was that the little girl, Misaka Mikoto's clone apparently named 'Last Order'? Was she the one who was crying out? Who was "Kikyou"?

She sounded like Misaka Mikoto. Her tone of voice, though considerably more shrill, not unlike that of a child's, appropriately enough, was by Ruiko's own standards eerily, chillingly similar.

Why did the little girl, if a little girl was what she indeed was, or was intended to be speak in such a strange manner, in third person as if she was narrating the speech delivered by another person entirely?

For a moment, as the exchanging of gunfire continued above, accompanied by a symphony of screams, and a choir of thumping footfalls, individuals, terrified humans fleeing in all directions, Saten Ruiko considered something.

What she couldn't have known about was the unheard conversation taking place within the higher mind of Last Order, a mind which was not merely connected to, but moderated the hive mind identified as the Misaka Network.

" _Where is MISAKA's support, where is Kikyou's support? MISAKA MISAKA inquiries with firm and determined fervour, attempting in vain to rally the layabouts she has been tasked to_ _m_ _oderate!"_

" _Misaka is too busy being in England and laughing at the fact that tou-san got cut up by the Savior to bother with you."_

" _MISAKA knows you're lying, Malicious One, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, believing well and truly that Accelerator is alive and well in England!"_

" _Network serial number ten thousand thirty-two reporting in! Almost on your position, give us a bit of time, Moderator! Network serial number ten thousand twenty-_ _nine_ _is lagging, due to her overindulgence in junk food and Internet video streaming services!"_

" _Misaka ten thousand and twenty-_ _nine_ _would take more time to debunk Misaka ten thousand and thirty-two's foolish and false claims if current events were not so dire, Misaka elaborates, setting the story straight for all others to hear."_

Ironically, in the midst of utter chaos, society and civil order unfolding around her, Saten Ruiko considered something that made absolute sense.

If she hadn't decided to act in another, similar situation, a situation in which the anguished cries of the destitute, the desperate and the wounded rang out around her, what would've happened?

What would've happened if she'd decided to flee, when, in a time that seemed so long ago, the treacherous, merciless, callous and cruel witch who called herself Therestina Kihara Lifeline had her closest friends in her clutches, their abilities disrupted through the use of the Capacity Down frequency?

With a sudden, mental steeling of her senses, of her will and a swift grasp at what confidence she could reach out to, Ruiko rushed forward like a bat straight out of Hell. Up and down she climbed what remaining steps she hadn't ascended, one leg moving upward, then downward as another moved not in unison but out of step, an imperfect balance.

And, so, Saten Ruiko chose not to ascend the subsequent staircase, which would've lead her to Family Side's fourteenth floor. Instead, the level zero middle schooler girl chose to, with all of the physical strength her shuddering, unsure upper body muscles could've managed, throw open the thick, silver-toned metallic door which lead into the apartment complex's twelfth floor, and the individual suites found within.

Her eyelids widened, as she bore witness to the events unfolding before her.

Preventing the door from slamming behind her, by extending her arm, and catching the door with her outstretched hand's palm, then allowing it to silently close with the gradual aid of her arm's muscles, Saten Ruiko's vision became fixed upon a human form, leaning outward, only slightly from within the frame of a doorway, leading into what must've been the thirteenth floor's first suite. A girl, short, even shorter than Ruiko herself and even slimmer was clad in a darkened sailor's uniform with brightened white trim, and accented by a white, pleated skirt. Close by, a beret equally as dark in coloration as her sailor's uniform was cast out upon the carpeted flooring, having apparently rested upon her head's crown.

" _S-SEIVELUN-SAN?!"_

Only in her thoughts did Saten Ruiko cry out, for she was quickly silenced and forced to the ground; Frenda Seivelun, the informally-dressed girl with the sailor's uniform and the long, curly blonde hair tossed an emptied clip aside, allowing the used goods to tumble to the carpeted flooring, nearby her abandoned beret.

From within the rightmost pocket of her pleated skirt, Frenda Seivelun loaded another clip into her handgun, and, with a click, she took aim once more; she neglected to fire, only because she lacked a visible target.

"Basically," Frenda called out, causing Ruiko to look upward, toward the form of the individual whom she'd known for some time to be her acquaintance, at the very least, "just hand the kid over, and I'll be on my merry way! Nothing's going to happen to her; honestly, the City will probably just give her back when they're done with… whatever it is they want to do. So quit being so unreasonable! What's the clone to you, anyways? Basically, too many people try to play the hero around here… tiring!"

"Your case would be much more trustworthy if you weren't currently attempting to kill both of us, girl."

"Basically, you shot first! Don't try and pin this on me, old lady! In fact, by all rights, I think _I_ have the moral high-ground!"

Something, something within her mind, it proverbially snapped itself into place, like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Saten Ruiko recognized the vocalizations, unique in sound and tone, produced by the unseen individual, lurking within what must've been the thirteenth floor's third suite.

That disembodied voice could be linked to an owner, and the owner in question was Anti Skill Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho, the physical education teacher, first at that dumpy high school and then recently transferred to that that less dumpy middle-high school.

A voice unrecognized by Saten Ruiko cried back in response.

"You won't take her from us, EVER!"

"Basically, we'll just have to see about that. You wouldn't believe how quickly the tide can turn!"

With neither party attempting to gun one another down, it seemed that an impasse had been reached. Yomikawa Aiho didn't slide out from her side of the third suite's door frame – why she didn't simply close the door, and barricade herself and those she co-habituated with inside was a rhetorical question whose answer lurked beyond the corridors of Ruiko's higher mind – and Frenda Seivelun, without a target, had slid back into place, her firearm raised upwards, her right hand's index finger wrapped around its trigger.

An irritated Frenda Seivelun, if her orders hadn't been specifically to take the clone, "Last Order" alive, and unharmed, would've simply brought the entirety of "Family Side" down. She possessed the technological know-how; she possessed the hardware to make it happen.

Without vocalizing a single word, Frenda instead dammed within her higher mind with a passing thought the Darkness' collective army of scientific goonies for being so picky in whose brains it wanted to pick apart in some bleak underground laboratory.

Temporarily distracted, temporarily having taken her leave from the world of the living, the level three esper and mercenary girl Frenda Seivelun never heard the quiet footfalls of Saten Ruiko, the clacking of her loafers' soles muffled by the carpeted flooring beneath them, stalking from behind, inching forward with caution she'd never before exercised.

Her brain, her very mind itself was beginning to throb and cry out for oxygenated air; Saten Ruiko perpetually held her breath, never even taking a moment to inhale slightly. She couldn't risk to make even a peep.

With the firefight having come to a temporary halt, no longer could she afford to breathe. No longer could she afford to make the smallest of noises, anything which could possibly disrupt her cover.

" _I don't know_ _anything about all_ _this, but Seivelun-san,_ _but_ _I'm going to stop it..._ _This isn't about being a hero. This is for Misaka-san!"_

With her thoughts becoming scattered, her lungs crying out, demanding to be given the chance to take in a great, long inhalation of precious, life-giving oxygen, Saten Ruiko did just that, as she leapt forward, arms held outward, as if she was about to take the mercenary girl into an embrace.

An embrace was most certainly not what'd happened.

With all one hundred and two pounds of her body's weight, Saten Ruiko came crashing down upon a shocked Frenda Seivelun, who produced a vaguely squeal-like shriek as she fell, her face connecting with the carpeted flooring beneath her body.

From the grip of her fingers, which were flung outwards, as instincts took control while her rational, controlling higher mind reeled from the sudden and unexpected blow, Frenda's firearm tumbled to the ground, with a series of clacks.

Swiftly, even as her own heart thudded in her chest, even as sweat began to drip downward, accenting her wrinkled brow, exposing the extend of her body's perspiration beneath the ceiling-mounted lighting fixtures of Family Side's thirteenth floor, Ruiko quickly scavenged the weapon.

Not having even the simplest, singular clue of how to properly hold such a thing, Saten Ruiko awkwardly wrapped both of her hands around the firearm, and pointed its barrel in Frenda's direction.

Awkwardly, it drifted about, as Ruiko's own hands shook violently; if she'd decided to take the shot, the bullet was highly unlikely to make contact with the form of its intended target.

"SEIVELUN-SAN!"

A slight heave, a quick, surprisingly gentle cough and a low grunt preceded Frenda Seivelun's quick rise from the carpeted flooring; with either of her hands she forcibly pushed herself upwards and practically leapt to her feet.

Bending, she casually slipped the pump that adorned her right foot back into place, before her vision's gaze locked with the unsteady gaze of Saten Ruiko, whose open aggression was etched into her facial featured.

Then, Saten Ruiko found herself questioning just what was supposed to be happening, as Frenda began to quietly giggle under her breath. With a shake of her head, the mercenary girl's blonde, curly locks flowed about like the pedals of a flower buffeted by the forceful kisses of an afternoon's breeze.

"Basically, this is just so typical of you, Saten."

Rolling her shoulders, Frenda hopped in place, for a moment, before she continued, from where her previous vocalizations' words had left off.

"If you're not out wandering back allies, searching for monsters, you're stumbling into a situation that's way too dangerous for someone like you to be involved. Basically, you're _way_ beyond just being a person whose movements are completely predictable... but I can acknowledge a good stroke when I see one. You caught me off guard, no way around it. Do you have some kind of… precognition ability? MAYBE you can even see the future! Basically, that'd explain it."

Saten Ruiko thought she might collapse; her heart was beating far, far too quickly for its own good, and she knew it. More than once, it palpitated, and, each time, Ruiko assumed it wouldn't begin beating again, following each palpitation.

It did, of course.

"L-leave these people alone, Seivelun-san. They haven't done anything to you."

Frenda simply shook her head, no, as she placed either of her small hands on her hips.

"Basically," the level three mercenary girl began, carefully situating herself, quite snugly within the first suite's door's frame, so that she couldn't become a target as she spoke her piece to the newcomer, "you don't even know _half_ of what's happening here, Saten."

"It's not important! I know enough! I—"

"You're just an ordinary girl, and, you should try to make sure things stay that way."

With a stomp of her loafer-clad foot, Saten Ruiko inched forward, Frenda's pilfered firearm clutched tightly, and beyond awkwardly in the sweat-plastered palms of her shuddering hands.

"I'm so tired of having that said to me! If I wanted to be some ordinary girl who never die anything and never even tried to help the people important to me, I never would've come to Academy City! I never would've tried to develop an ability, Seivelun-san!"

"You've seen the dark part of Academy City more than once, but those were just brushes with it. Every time, you almost died. This isn't going to be any exception, especially because we're on two different sides of the field this time."

"I know the little girl, Last Order, is one of Misaka-san's clones, one of her Sisters. I don't need any other motivation to get involved! Misaka-san is my friend, and her family – it doesn't even matter how they were born – is my family, too!"

"Hm."

Another piece on the board; from within the third suite of Family Side's thirteenth floor, Yomikawa Aiho, Anti Skill Captain and physical education teacher turned mother bear stepped out from the hall, and in through the doorway, leading into the apartment she shared with a certain once-researcher.

From within the pocket of her simple denim slacks, she'd retrieved a small, dark-coloured device, with only a singular button on its physical user interface, one which was circular, located in the centre bottom of the device, beneath its illuminated touchscreen.

It was a smartphone, and the Anti Skill Captain, more than likely, was plotting to utilize its services in order to call out for the aid of backup.

For the mere moments that she'd taken her eyes away from the form of Frenda Seivelun, however, Saten Ruiko paid.

Moving like greased lightning, quickly closing the distance between herself and the level zero middle-schooler girl, Frenda landed a harsh, swiftly-delivered kick; her pump-clad right foot slammed directly into Ruiko's side, effortlessly knocking the wind from her lungs, and, with equal effortlessness, resulted in her tumbling to the carpeted flooring, producing only a soft and otherwise unremarkable gasp, a quick, fruitless attempt by her lungs to fill themselves once more with oxygenated air.

"Basically, I'm not enjoying this. Just crawl off, and that'll be the end of that, Saten. I'm not going to follow you."

"You… seriously believe… that…"

"You can report me to Anti-Skill all you like, they won't do anything about it, probably won't even investigate. Basically, what goes on in the dark stays in the dark, and the light doesn't get involved, ever. If you know so much about the Experiments, you'd probably know that it was someone from the outside who ended the whole thing, some, Kami… Kami-something-or-other."

And, so, as Frenda Seivelun retrieved her firearm, formerly pilfered by Saten Ruiko, from the carpeted flooring, she took a moment to look over the weapon's casing, as she fell back into her 'secure' position, looking over her shoulder only once before she pressed her back to the door frame.

Ruiko herself had managed to stumble to her feet; even this simple action proved to be a daunting task, with her side's constant, incessant throbbing. Had a rib been broken? There was no blood to speak of, though the middle schooler girl didn't quite know for certain whether or not the fleeing of lifeblood could always be reasonably associated with a broken bone, of any sort.

"Seivelun-san…"

"Huh. Basically, make like a fluffy old bumblebee and buzz off, Saten, I'll hang out with you another day. I'm sort of busy. My work's just as important as anyone else's."

"Why?"

"Because it's my job; it's not something that you would get."

Just as Ruiko was about to utter a reply, as best she could, given the fact that the entire right side of her body was beginning to violently ache and throb, like some sort of unseen, ethereal force was tearing away at her, the lights above flickered.

The lights within the pilfered apartment, which Frenda Seivelun had apparently taken as her own place of temporary refuge flickered; once, twice, a third time. And then they died out completely, like a species of animal forced to extinction.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, who had been preparing to level the entire complex, halted the progression of his Personal Reality's scientific, calculation-based conjuring as he saw _them_ ascending the walls of Family Side itself, as if they possessed suction cups beneath the soles of their Tokiwadai Middle School-issues loafers.

He folded his arms across his chest as he watched on, smartphone clutched in the palm of his hand, raised to the side of his face; the cellular device produced a series of dull, droning tones, emanating from within its external speaker.

Through the tall, metallic balcony doors, assembled with great, shining panes of glass, both of which were soon shattered a total of ten Sisters, the clones of Misaka Mikoto came, crashing through not unlike rocks thrown by mischievous children.

"Misaka Imouto", as Kamijou Touma had called her, a nickname which had found itself sticking was the first to commit this act of grievous property damage. A simple, yet effective slamming of both her feet through the pane of glass had done the trick while next to her Misaka Ten Thousand and Twenty-Nine mimed her act, destroying the leftmost pane, shattering it and sending a likely million shards of glass flying forward, each of which soon came to decorate the tilted flooring of the seventh suite's living quarters.

"Basically," Frenda remarked, "sounds like we've got company, Saten. I told you to buzz off, and you should've listened. Oh well, it's a learning experience! I'll be your teacher from this point onward, just call me Seivelun-sensei~! If it's Anti-Skill, keep your head down! If it's Judgment, head for the hills!"

Saten Ruiko offered no verbal response to the pathetic, borderline psychopathic attempt at momentary comic relief, if that was indeed what the petite mercenary girl was trying to achieve. The middle schooler girl couldn't quite be sure.

It was with a pant, a swift, sharp inhalation of oxygenated air that Ruiko forced her body to move, even as her muscles screamed at her to stop. Higher mind pushing them, proverbially whipping them into shape like a series of mistreated soldiers in some dictator's personal military, the level zero middle schooler girl rushed the petite mercenary girl.

A sigh of irritation, and the latter's right first was thrown outward, palm open, fingers held upwards, not forming a fist, but, instead, a flattened surface of some sort.

Frenda Seivelun could've pulled out one of the many butterfly knives she kept on her person at all times. She could've produced her lighter, modified to create a particularly large, if brief burst of flame, attuned more for use in a combat-oriented situation than in a moment in which a cigar or cigarette would've needed to be alight. She could've produced from within her skirt, strapped to her inner thigh, one of her handheld canisters of harmless gas which obviously she would've claimed to be noxious, and highly toxic.

But Frenda Seivelun didn't. She _did_ understand where her acquaintance, the ordinary, powerless middle schooler girl was coming from. It was a kind gesture, and a genuinely warm-hearted goal she sought to accomplish.

As if time had slowed, Saten Ruiko approached, closing he distance as best she could, one loafer-clad foot slapping against the carpeted flooring of the thirteenth floor's hall after the other.

And, so, it was then that Frenda found her right arm's wrist being grabbed onto, with considerable, admittedly surprising force, as, from within the thirteenth floor's seventh suite, swift footfalls echoed.

"Basically, you don't want to do this!"

Like her body knew just what it was supposed to do in such a situation, despite having never found itself in such a situation, not one where it'd actually been made to fight back against attackers at least, Saten Ruiko, with Frenda Seivelun's wrist in hand quickly pulled her in, and forced her right knee into the mercenary girl's stomach, her rage, her disgust, her distaste boiling over, becoming audible as a shrill, unconsciously-vocalized scream.

Her knee, the flesh of it, and the hardened bone beneath didn't connect with Frenda Seivelun's flesh, however; Saten Ruiko's knee instead met a near-literal wall of resistance. There was no way for her to have known precisely what she'd struck, but what she'd struck was in fact a bulletproof vest, constructed with thick multilayered armoured plates; high tensile strength fibres linked each plate together, lurking just beneath her sailor's uniform.

To say that Saten Ruiko's knee took the brunt of the brutal, sudden lashing of pain would be a grand understatement. She certainly hadn't been expecting anything of the sort.

Uttering a loud vocalization, something between a scream and a forceful yell, Saten Ruiko lost balance, her suddenly-useless knee buckling beneath the weight of her upper body. Crawling backward, Ruiko practically dragged her right leg, which had become all but useless.

"Told you so; in the end, you're just as stubborn as ever, Saten. It's charming. Say, once I finish up here, we should grab a bite to eat, my treat!"

At the very least, Ruiko could still _feel_ the limb's presence. It throbbed, it vibrated, and, for a moment, she thought that she wouldn't have minded if the limb was amputated there and then, but, it was still there. That had to have been something of note.

The level zero middle schooler girl seethed, but offered no response to the verbal jabs that'd been thrown her way; Frenda Seivelun seemed all too pleased with herself; etched across her facial features was a toothy, shit-eating sneer.

The door leaning into (or alternatively out from) the thirteenth floor's seventh suite swung open, passing inward.

As such, Frenda's sneer faded.

Head tilting to one side, higher mind seeking to identify the source of the intrusive noise, Frenda's sneer turned to a frustrated pout, accentuated with a sigh.

Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl from the "Light Side" crawled further, bewildered, shocked, horrified, and utterly confused all at once merely by the sight of nearly two dozen of the same person, all completely identical, nearly two dozen Misaka Mikotos before her, each dressed identically, clad in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform.

Yet, as Ruiko's gaze focused further, 'identical' was then made an obsolete word, at least when used to describe the sight of the Misaka Mikotos before her.

The only real standout feature any of the Misaka Mikotos possessed was a small, silver pendant, with a hollowed, metallic emblem carved in the shape of a heart, which was worn by the 'squadron's' apparent 'leader', around her neck.

With Misaka Imouto, as she'd been nicknamed leading the charge, ten of the Misaka Network's seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-six units emerged, entering the fray. The barrels of nine firearms, auto-rifles which were easily as lengthy as they were tall were aimed directly at Frenda Seivelun's head, the scopes mounted near the firearm's barrels utilized as a means of heat-based visual tracking.

Misaka Imouto, the ten thousand and thirty-second clone of Misaka Mikoto raised her hand, however, and shook her head, no.

Misaka ten thousand and twenty-nine shot at the section of carpeted flooring closest to Frenda Seivelun, causing her to start; still, even in the face of what could've easily been certain death, the petite mercenary girl's will didn't waver, not in the slightest.

Instead, she remained tucked in, snugly, her back pressed against the first suite's door frame, handgun clutched tightly, her right hand's fingers wrapped securely around the firearm.

" _You got to gun down the rapey guy, serial number ten thousand twenty-_ _nine_ _. This one's mine."_

" _Misaka would like to state that this is highly unfair."_

" _Don't kill her, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, hoping to extend a merciful hand to the villainous blonde bimbo!"_

" _Heh, the Moderator, calling other people bimbos. Misaka's amused by the irony."_

Like a scene ripped straight from the climax of a classic western film, as if they were two cowboys proceeding to quick-draw as the proverbial clock figuratively struck high noon, the outcome of exchange that would inevitably follow came down to timing, instincts, and who possessed the quicker, more capable trigger finger.

In this case, those who took part in the 'duel' were Misaka Imouto and Frenda Seivelun.

Bang, clack, bang, clack.

Frenda had made a tactical error in judgment.

With her higher mind's attention focused utterly on keeping an eye on Saten Ruiko, especially following that 'little' take down stunt of hers, executed earlier, she paid little attention to the clones of the third-ranked level five who, more than likely, were out for her blood.

The petite mercenary girl's left leg poked out ever so slightly from the door frame.

It was more than enough leeway.

Misaka Imouto had fired first, planting a bullet first in Frenda Seivelun's left knee, searing directly through the back of her leg, severing tendons and tearing muscles; then, as the stunned, pain-stricken mercenary girl stumbled outward from her perch, another, single round of ammunition was planted directly into Frenda's right knee, through the front, rushing, and piercing the kneecap, and emerging on from the other side.

With little more than a sudden gasp, a swift attempt at inhalation of oxygenated air by her lungs, Frenda fell like a downed giant, lifeblood leaking; the crimson liquid spewed from her destroyed knees.

"And so ends your reign of terror," Misaka Imouto remarked, approaching the site of the fallen mercenary, whose own lifeblood was quickly pooling around her. "I'd guess this makes me the better shot."

Though no one beyond the Network could hear it, words were thought, mentally vocalized, and broadcast throughout the Misaka Network, even to those who were not immediately present, or involved at all with the situation that'd unfolded, and then come to a close on the thirteenth floor of Family Side.

" _Network serial number ten thousand thirty-two reporting, if serial numbers ten thousand twenty-_ _nine_ _and ten thousand forty-three could see Onee-_ _s_ _ama's friend from the premises… I would much appreciate it. I'll see to it that this terrorist receives the necessary treatment, both medical and law-oriented."_

" _Misaka can perform this task, serial number ten thousand and twenty-_ _nine_ _states, clearly displaying her ability to follow simple orders from the considerably more experienced serial number ten thousand and thirty-two."_

" _Misaka can also see to this, serial number ten thousand and forty-three elaborates, vocalizing her desire to cooperate with her kinswomen."_

" _You didn't have to do that to her, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, hoping that the sheer disappointment MISAKA is currently experiencing is felt and understood by MISAKA's underlings!"_

" _Shut it, brat, Misaka thinks they did the right thing. Misaka would've done worse."_

" _Your naive nature is quite vexing, I must admit, Control Tower."_

" _OHOHO! Serial number ten thousand and thirty-two laying down the LAW!"_

Saten Ruiko, unaware as to the mental exchange taking place within the heads of the Misaka Mikotos, and, by extension, within the head of the little clown named Last Order, was barely able to figuratively grab a hold of herself and metaphorically slap herself in the proverbial face.

It was an ironic state of mental considerations in which she'd found herself. Being afraid would accomplish very little, and she knew it. If anything at all, it would serve only to offend the clones, who, obviously enough, weren't bad people. Vengeful, perhaps, but who wouldn't have been?

Just how they'd shown up, seemingly from out of the blue was a question which Ruiko didn't have the answer to, and likely never would, unless she asked the clones themselves.

Yet despite this desire not to fear them Ruiko's heart practically leapt into her throat as two of them approached her, walking almost like some sort of lifeless automaton, as if they were synthetic, artificial creations, metallic skeletal structures possessing human tissue stretched over them.

Surely, that wasn't the case.

"I'm sure you have some questions," the Misaka Mikoto who'd gunned down Frenda Seivelun without so much as a moment of hesitation spoke, offering the level zero middle schooler girl a hesitant, if warm, half-crooked grin.

Literally huddled in a corner, closest to the metallic door from which she'd first stepped into the Dark Side incident, Saten Ruiko simply nodded her head, yes, in an act of affirmation.

"I have some for you, too; but ultimately that's unimportant. I can't answer yours now, I'm afraid, but I do have a suggestion for you. Forget any of this happened. Learning more is just going to hurt you… and, if you'd be so kind try not to mention this to Onee-sa… "Misaka-san", she'll… become concerned. While her concern is appreciated, we can more than handle ourselves. Misaka-san need not worry about us."

" _I can tell,"_ was the first thought that rushed into Ruiko's higher mind, demanding to be loosed and vocalized; instead of giving into the temptation, the odd, habitual desire to vocalize those sarcastic-seeming words (they seemed sarcastic in Ruiko's mind, at least), the middle schooler girl without any sort of esper power literally bit into her tongue.

Looking up, Ruiko turned her attention from the Misaka Mikoto who'd spoken to her, and to those who'd come to stand before her, silently, each eyeing her almost warily. They looked to one another, for a moment's time, and then, turned their respective gazes back to Saten Ruiko.

The Misaka Mikoto, or, more accurately, the individual who must've been one of the Sisters clones, on the right leaned forward, extended her hand, and tilted her head one side.

Her eyes were empty, utterly devoid of… everything. Ruiko shuddered, beneath their oppressive gaze. At least the clone with the heart pendant had normal-looking, hazel-toned irises, and proper pupils.

"Misaka has been asked to see you, Onee-sama's acquaintance from the site of this incident, Misaka elaborates, briefly dumping a small amount of exposition in order for Onee-sama's acquaintance to better understand Misaka's innocent intentions.

"Misaka will not harm you, or allow any harm to come to you, Misaka elaborates further, hoping to ease the anxiousness held within the heart of Onee-sama's acquaintance. Unlike Serial Number ten thousand and thirty-two, Misaka cannot communicate with you through means you would deem normal, Misaka admits, slightly envious of Serial Number ten thousand and thirty-two's unprecedented cerebral mutations."

In response, Ruiko could only look on, initially; with a shake of her head, a forceful motion, one which caused her neck to crack repeatedly, a surprisingly comfortable sensation. Forcing her tongue to work, whipping it about within her mouth, the middle schooler girl finally managed to vocalize words, in response to the unimpressed-looking Misaka Mikotos looming over her.

"I-I… c-can't walk. I managed to mess up my knee pretty badly."

"Misaka and serial number ten thousand forty-three will aid Onee-sama's acquaintance in locomotion, then, Misaka elaborates, offering a helping hand in the only way she knows how."

"Misaka suggests that Onee-sama's acquaintance receives medical attention for the injury she has sustained, presumably in the midst of combat, Misaka states, taking a professional stance when compared to that taken by serial number ten thousand twenty-nine."

And, so, without another word, both Misaka ten thousand twenty-eight and Misaka ten thousand forty-three took their places behind Saten Ruiko, whom they then proceeded to lift, wrapping either of the middle schooler girl's arms around their collective shoulders.

With Anti-Skill on their way back to the scene, having originally been turned away by someone who possessed authority far higher than their own, Frenda Seivelun, the bleeding mercenary girl's wounds were treated, to the best of her ability by the clone of Misaka Mikoto, nicknamed "Misaka Imouto", utilizing torn sections of her own Tokiwadai Middle School blazer.

It would at least do until the mercenary could be hauled off to some medical treatment centre.

Perhaps she, clone number ten thousand and thirty-two had gone a bit too far. Perhaps she should've only shot one of the mercenary's legs, or, perhaps, she should've attempted to rush the mercenary, instead. Then again, what use was there in questioning what'd unfolded? There was no way to turn back the ticking hands of time, and undo the actions of even the recent past.

Saten Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl, aided by the ten thousand and twenty-ninth and ten thousand and forty-third clones of Misaka Mikoto was, soon enough, attended to by Anti Skill operatives, who'd only just arrived on the scene of the incident some few minutes prior.

Loaded onto a stretcher, despite the lack of bleeding, and despite the fact that she was, aside from the damage she'd unintentionally sustained to her right leg's knee otherwise unharmed, the fourth-ranked level five could only look on, as one among many Anti Skill armoured vehicles pulled away, and soon left the scene entirely.

"So, back to business, then, Hamasaki-Sama. You remarked earlier in our chitchat that you'd formulated an evil plan, of some description. Last evil plan you concocted was… pretty poor, at least in execution – personally, I think the theory itself wasn't all too flawed – let's talk about how you've improved."

The expectant voice of Gladio Director Sugou received no reply, however, not one he could comprehend, given the fact that he was conversing with Hamasaki Tsubasa over a cellular connection.

The fourth-ranked level five, seated upon a bench that'd mysteriously, almost magically managed to survive the near-complete devastation wreaked upon the section of roadway closest to Family Side could only continue to contemplate the surprisingly warm, completely genuine smile that Saten Ruiko had offered him, along with the victorious raising of her left hand's thumb.

With Kinuhata Saiai having come to her senses and with Mugino Shizuri, the formerly fifth-ranked level five no longer walking among the world of the living, there was only one who could've been responsible for Saten Ruiko's injuries.

That culprit would've been Frenda Seivelun; and she would pay very, very dearly for her involvement.


	6. A Trip to the Hospital

February 11th, 2004. 8:26 PM.

  
  


Even if he couldn’t see it within the cabin of the armoured Anti Skill vehicle, which had come to function as a makeshift ambulance, Hamasaki Tsubasa simply knew that the planet’s sky was utterly at peace, unconcerned with the events unfolding below.

  
  


For all of the concern it offered, the entire planet’s parasitic infection of humans could’ve been wiped from existence, by their own hand or by the hand of some greater species, and, without a doubt, the Earth would not have cared at all.

  
  


At least the section of sky hovering above Academy City seemed to hold that sort of grim outlook, even as its colours faded in preparation for dusk, bright and blue. The fourth-ranked level five esper was all too aware that the world didn’t give two shits, or even a singular fuck about what, exactly, took place on the landmasses beneath it.

  
  


Planet Earth was infested.

  
  


“Hama… augh! Mm, unf, this… this popcorn is… really great, feels like my taste buds are getting… pleasured. The wonders of science, eh, organically grown and harvested! Hamasaki-sama, are you currently on the same planet that I am? Seems like your head’s in the clouds. It’d also seem that you’ve decided to go and zone out on me? Hoohoo, are you there? Are you ignoring me on purpose? What I have I done to receive this cold shoulder treatment from you? Why are you stabbing me right in the heart like this? Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

  
  


“Shush for a minute, Sugou. I’m thinking.”

  
  


“Don’t go and give yourself a headache, Hamasaki-sama… kidding, kidding. I was a teenager once, too, Hamasaki-sama. Take your time.”

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five sighed, resting his left leg over his right knee. Standing by the stretcher, which acted a place of refuge for an injured Saten Ruiko, Hamasaki Tsubasa blinked.

  
  


As he turned his gaze to her, she offered him a grin, and, with her right hand’s index and middle fingers, produced a small ‘V’ sign.

  
  


Ruiko performed these in actions in spite of the grim thoughts that drifted throughout her mind’s winding, never-ending corridors, through the passageways which had long ago fallen into disrepair, plastered with cobwebs woven by invisible spiders, conjured by the shadowy, unknown recesses of her mind.

  
  


She could never stop impressing him with her tenacity. Her seemingly endless fortitude and drive to simply _survive_.

  
  


For example, the fact that Saten Ruiko may not ever learn of Frenda Seivelun’s true fate; would she survive the wounds inflicted upon her? Would she die, instead? Was that what the petite blonde deserved, for her obvious lack of concern regarding human lives?  
  
  


For example, the fact Misaka Mikoto, someone Saten Ruiko had long considered to be one of her closest friends, practically someone she considered to be her sister, as close to her as her own brother and her own parents had been cloned well twenty thousand times, and that well over half of those clones had been mowed down by the strongest esper in Academy City, the fact that Misaka Mikoto had faced the throes of suffering and trauma alone.

  
  


Of course, Hamasaki Tsubasa had no means of knowing about Saten Ruiko’s contemplation. At the very least, among others there was one less subject for him to worry himself half to death over; Saten Ruiko would be well taken care of. If Academy City was good at even _one_ thing, it was good at keeping people from dying.

  
  


So long as she could keep her lips sealed, regarding what she’d been told, and, presumably, what she’d seen, everything for her would go back to normal.

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa would make sure that everything for her would go back to normal, or he’d die trying.

  
  


Having inquired as to which (presumed) medical facility his friend was being carted off to, the information he’d received from the Anti Skill operatives tending to her, within the cold, unfeeling, sterile cabin of that vehicle, the same vehicle that’d likely carted off criminals, society’s failures didn’t strike Hamasaki Tsubasa as particularly friendly.

  
  


The fact that Saten Ruiko would be cared for in [Hasegawa](https://www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/hasegawa?role=S) Hospital, a medical facility conveniently (and understandably) located right in the heart of school district seven was relevant enough to his concerns.

  
  


The level zero middle schooler girl who’d thrown her own well-being in the path of a very real, very lethal threat for the sake of another.

  
  


With a simple flash of his badge, he’d been able to find himself aboard the makeshift ambulance, something the Anti-Skill officers-turned-paramedics apparently hadn’t been too fond of.

  
  


That was simply too bad for them, wasn’t it? Gladio were the top dogs, higher in authority than even the Board of Directors, and there was nothing that any of them, any of those who existed ‘below’ could do about it.

  
  


“So— Hamasaki-sama, is something bothering you? There’s that cold shoulder again. You know, you ought to try and limit just how much you use that technique on people. You’re bound to catch cold, or, worse… BECOME _FROS_ _T_ _BIT!_ ”

  
  


“Oi, Sugou.”

  
  


“That’s _Director_ to yo… oh, I just can’t pull off the ‘nefarious bad guy who constantly radiates pure evil’ shtick. Excuse me, please, just humour an old man trying to recapture his long-lost youth. What’s on your mind? I’m going to take a stab at the dark and guess that it has something to do with why you’ve decided to contact me.”

  
  


“Yeah… it’s about the Experiments.”

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa looked from one side, and then to the other, observing his surroundings, and making mental notes of all activity taking place, unfolding around him.

  
  


Beyond the circular, porthole-like windows of the makeshift Anti Skill ambulance, a crowd had gathered, consisting, unsurprisingly, entirely of students, from middle and high schools alike.

  
  


Aside from Saten Ruiko, whose facial expression turned from one of neutrality and to one of contemplation, to one of curiosity as soon as the word “experiments” was mentioned in casual conversation, and, aside from the Anti Skill paramedics who didn’t pay the mentioning of any sort of experiment or experiments even a second of thought, there were none who desperately needed to be kept out of the proverbial loop.

  
  


Those beyond the makeshift ambulance’s cabin, those who had gathered to witness the devastation, the fourth-ranked level five assumed that they’d come bearing hope in their hearts of witnessing some gruesome spectacle; they’d more than certainly hoped to find and gawk at the bloodied, shredded remnants of a mangled corpse, maybe produce vocalizations of feigned shock, such as a few “oohs” or, maybe, if the sight was good enough to sate their instinctual cravings for violence, even a few “ayahs”.

  
  


Humans craved violence, and Hamasaki Tsubasa knew it; he was no exception. The crowds wanted to even spy a few severed limbs scattered about the makeshift battlefield, like pieces of garbage lifted from some proverbial dustbin by figurative, gusting winds.

  
  


With no one in the immediate vicinity, the fourth-ranked level five spoke, hogging the bench he sat upon, simply by virtue of no one else apparently deigning to seek out its comfort. Whether there was something about himself, or something about the situation that’d unfolded, which drove potential comfort-seekers away, Tsubasa couldn’t have known, no for certain.

  
  


“As of late I’ve been collaborating with Kihara Gensei.”

  
  


“Oh, is that so? How is that slipper-wearing old-timer? In that case, I can confidently guess he recovered from the cardiac arrest? I’m going to say it, I really didn’t think he was going to come back from that. The miracles of OLD AGE!”

  
  


“That black heart’s still beating for now. When he’s not been busy with… something, that is, some sort of “Side Project”, we’ve been collaborating, performing join work regarding the progress of the Experiments, off and on. Apparently something secretive, so secretive that he barely even seems like he knows about it. Then again, that could be Alzheimer’s talking.”

  
  


“Get on with it, then, Hamasaki-sama. I don’t have al— oh, of course I do. I can always make time for you. I mean, I’ve got _plenty_ of time, so don’t rush. I’m sitting here at my desk with a half-finished bag of caramel popcorn in my lap and Magical Powered Kanamin reruns are on, what could be better? Kanamin’s rival girl is adorable. Hamasaki-Sama, I want you to buy me a dakimakura with her image for Christmas.”

  
  


Even as the fourth-ranked level five’s stomach churned, twisting upon itself within his lower body’s protective caress, disgusted by the Gladio Director’s attempts at forging some sort of companionship, he continued from where he’d been forcibly halted, made to leave off.

  
  


“Uh… huh… no. I’m not going to do that. To make a long story not quite as long, we don’t think the continued use of my ability to create clones for summary destruction will be necessary in order to achieve continued development. The topic’s been discussed with the researchers, and, with the outcome of our joint studies, they seem to agree, feel free to contact them if you don’t believe me.”

  
  


“But I do, Hamasaki-sama!”

  
  


“Kihara Gensei has a different idea, and, so far, it’s been working all fairly well. Really, I would’ve been putting more work in than I am currently, however…”

  
  


As Hamasaki Tsubasa’s words faded into obscurity, Gladio Director Sugou figuratively picked up the proverbial slack.

  
  


“The Sons of Taured, hm, they’re the ones who are nonstop FUCKING with Gladio’s progress, on a few different projects. Unintentionally, it seems, too, honestly that’s the worst kind of bad guy. Tyrannical dictators and evil wizards at least _know_ what they’re doing is wrong, these people are simply misguided. How are you supposed to hate a misguided antagonist? I can’t! I just want to set them up in a classroom and provide them with a free course, “How to be a Bad Guy One Oh One.” Don’t allow it to bother you all that much, Hamasaki-sama; magic, magic, what a magical pain in our collective asses.”

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa simply nodded his head; even if there was not even a single soul, relevant to the conversation at hand, at least to acknowledge the nod, or even comprehend its meaning.

  
  


“It’s as simple as this. Kihara Gensei and I have been utilizing not leftover, but new batches of high-tier level four voidclones created with my ability. They do have to die, in the end, but…”

  
  


“Oh, but, shouldn’t you feel some sort of brotherly bond with them? They’re you, after all! They’re like your little brothers! I never did enjoy seeing them getting carved up by you. The whole bunch of them always looked like they were in… pain.”

  
  


“Don’t be ridiculous. They lack even the most basic levels of consciousness. Through harvesting sections of their frontal lobes, and small portions of each voidclone’s cerebral cortex, the required secretions can be obtained, and, henceforth, effectively crystallized. Voidclones can be… difficult, for me to control, but the data they provide is indispensable to the Experiments’ endgame. Don’t worry yourself about the smaller details.”

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five had no means of knowing it, but, Gladio’s Director’s facial features warped, and twisted, his previously neutral facial expression shifting, to form a disapproving frown. With his legs kicked up at his desk, one ankle crossed over the other, his eyes’ gaze remained focused almost entirely on the events playing out in the twenty-fourth episode of Magical Powered Kanamin’s third season.

  
  


“Kihara Gensei’s messing around with crystals again? If there’s one thing that geezer loves, it’s his crystals. Hamasaki-Sama, did I ever tell you about the time his little granddaughter, Thera-something-something-someone-can’trememberthenameoffthetopofmyhead tried to create a…”

  
  


“Focus, Sugou. It’s the perfect match, specifically for me with my ability, given that at their core, the sequenced DNA samples within each of the individual voidclones are my own.”

  
  


For the span of a few moments’ time, there wasn’t an immediate reply, though there were individual sounds which were audible, among the native, expected feedback of the call, consisting of static tones. A sound, not unlike that of a ball point pen tapping, repeatedly upon the surface of a piece of paper could be heard.

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa would’ve questioned just why Gladio’s Director was utilizing pen and paper, presumably as a means of record-keeping in a place like Academy City which was easily thirty years ahead of the rest of the world’s civilizations, in terms of technological advancements, if he hadn’t been made aware some time ago of Director Sugou’s neurosis, revolving around ‘dang dirty hackers’.

  
  


“Forgive that silence, wasn’t trying to give you the cold shoulder treatment. Just keeping track of all the crazy mambo-jumbo you’re hurling at me with your mouth-working muscles. So, just… let me confirm what we’ve got under our collective belts, Hamasaki-Sama.

  
  


“Kihara Gensei, the slipper-wearing geezer and accidentally defecating, diaper-wearing wonder has been playing around with his crystals, again, when he’s not up to something else – and I promise you that I have absolutely _no_ idea what _THAT_ could _POSSIBLY_ be – and you’ve been helping him. You stumbled upon something delicious, and, in a moment of spare time, you want to put it away for later? I’ll have some guys, or girls, don’t forget that Gladio’s not a sexist sausage-fest, look into it, see what sort of data your team’s compiled. Al—”

  
  


Gladio Director Sugou didn’t manage to get another word in, edgewise, before Hamasaki Tsubasa, fourth-ranked level five and Gladio Operative proceeded to forcibly grind his vocalized words to a halt.

  
  


“Not quite. Don’t tell me you missed it. If you were…”

  
  


“ _Well_ , that depends on what “IT” is. I don’t think I missed “IT”. Did you mean how you made Meltdowner explode into million-de-trillion pieces? I saw. I was watching the whole thing, finished an entire bag of caramel popcorn too, great show, you should consider being an entertainer. Maybe an Idol, I could see you dressed up in a miniskirt, with a cute little blouse, dancing arou…”

  
  


“Enough.”

  
  


“Apologies! You know, for the record, Hamasaki-sama, you didn’t _have_ to kill her.”

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five clicked his tongue, as the gaze of his mind’s eyes focused on the great crater that, through her self-inflicted demise, Mugino Shizuri had created.

  
  


That was the last thing she’d left behind, the final testament bearing her name, and containing her legacy. It would eventually be filled, and corrected, the roadway repaired until it was restored to full functionality.

  
  


There would be no further traces of her life.

  
  


Likely, very few would remember the name “Mugino Shizuri”.

  
  


Not a piece of poetry, or a drawing, depicting something relevant to the way she saw the world. Mugino Shizuri didn’t even leave behind any friends who could mourn her loss, as far as the fourth-ranked level five knew.

  
  


She had left behind only devastation, the one thing that she was good at. In and of itself, that alone was almost poetic enough. Of course, the formerly fifth-ranked level five surely wasn’t aware of that.

  
  


“The higher-ups wouldn’t care otherwise and you know it, stop being so sentimental. Meltdowner was the penultimate of useless espers, right up there with the third… but... unrelated, it’s all unrelated. It’s not important. You’re the one who contacted ITEM’s employer, and had the three of them sent in, are you not?”

  
  


“Well, yes. To be entirely fair to myself, you _were_ treading on Aleister’s territory with your rescue mission. You’d be correct, Hamasaki-sama. I still think you could’ve given her a decent pounding, and left her alive. No hard feelings?”

  
  


“Which means more than one cabal of higher-ups was curious to see if I could do it, loosening up Meltdowner and surviving face-to-face. What she did could’ve easily destroyed the likes of the second in a single blast, even, we’ve been over this, the calculations and simulations. Omnitron doesn’t lie, similarly to how TREE_DIAGRAM didn’t lie. I should, by rights, be the second-ranked level five, now. That’s proof, Sugou, you _owe_ me this. Development _has_ to continue.”

  
  


On the other end of the line, Gladio Director Sugou inhaled, deeply, a long breath which brought much oxygenized air to his lungs, which, soon enough, his body forced him to exhale, releasing the absorbed air as carbon dioxide.

  
  


“You _really_ think that achieving SYSTEM will bring about the end of Academy City, Hamasaki-Sama? I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t say to you, after all, you’ve had your heart set on this. I’m no dream-killer. Also, that’s some hard-u-core bullcorn you’re speaking. The Spare Plan is beyond you, Hamasaki-sama. Why else would you be trying to ‘skip’ him?”

  
  


“I’m convinced of it, it’ll end, unofficially, once SYSTEM is finally achieved, regardless of who it is that achieves SYSTEM. Having the Accelerator ascend is pointless. He’s completely declawed, completely and utterly defanged. Moreover, I’ve been hearing plenty of rumbling lately that he might actually be dead. In which case, there’s only the Spare Plan. Aleister’s getting sloppy, letting things leak.”

  
  


“Interesting assertion,” Gladio’s Director remarked, passingly, “but I don’t think that’s what Academy City is going for, especially not with the Accelerator. Let me take care of _everything_ , so— Hamasaki-sama. Shrugging off an overloaded Meltdowner’s no easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy feat, so, the higher-ups should be convinced easily enough that you can ascend.”

  
  


“Convincing these skeptical pessimists has been the bane of my existence for the last year. If you can do in an hour what I haven’t been able to do in a year’s worth of time, then… well, fuck me for trying, I guess.”

  
  


“Speaking of which,” Gladio’s Director remarked, with an odd, but fairly characteristic haste in his tone of voice, “I ought to get the word to you, since I’ve managed to get your attention for more than a few seconds. I’ll have your researchers notified, too, of course. We can’t have anyone left in the dark, especially when they don’t even have flashlights! Your next Calculation Test is scheduled for approximately nine thirty, tonight, sharp, district seventeen, the old switchyard. For some reason, the book-drones really like killing things there. Well, so long, Hamasaki-sama! Happy trails!”

  
  


Not offering a greeting of his own, Hamasaki Tsubasa locked his smartphone, which, aside from saving a considerable amount of power that remained stored within the device’s internal battery, also immediately terminated the call.

  
  


“I’m really confused,” Ruiko remarked, once she was certain that the call had, indeed, come to an end; this was established to be a certainty within her mind, when the fourth-ranked level five pocketed his smartphone.

  
  


Sitting up, as best as she could manage, resulting in a sharp, sudden panging, aching sensation rushing throughout her right leg, she gritted her teeth, as she forced her body to answer her higher mind’s calls to action.

  
  


“What’s a “voidclone”? Is it something you make with your ability? What’s “SYSTEM”, and “ascension? Who’s “Aleister?”

  
  


“I have a question to ask you in response to that.”

  
  


“Huh?”

  
  


“How deep do you want to go, Ruiko? Just how far into the depths of Hell do you really want to travel? There’s a _very_ thin line that separates what we, the level fives know and what you in Academy City, those on the “Light Side” know. Two separate realities that are one in the same.”

  
  


Even still, even as the fourth-ranked level five spoke his cryptic piece, the Anti-Skill paramedics looked as if they couldn’t have cared any less.

  
  


Regardless, as if the level five esper didn’t even exist, they went about their duties; one paramedic in particular, a larger male of dark-skinned descent placed his left hand, both right and left clad in light, cyan-toned rubber gloves upon Ruiko’s knee; with the gentle tap of a small instrument, which he’d produced from his vest’s upper pocket. He seemed perplexed before he nodded his head, apparently in affirmation.

  
  


As he whispered to his compatriot and fellow paramedic of Asian descent, Saten Ruiko, who’s damaged knee had apparently been examined, if only briefly, tilted her head to one side, apparently curious, apparently still in a state of wonderment.

  
  


Most would’ve been scared off by the fourth-ranked level five’s words alone, no matter how cryptic they might’ve been.

  
  


She really couldn’t stop impressing him.

  
  


“Think of it in this way,” Hamasaki Tsubasa remarked. “You’re still standing in the grass, at least with one foot. The other’s currently dangling, down, into the rabbit hole. A bit of a tired comparison… but it’ll do. You can step out of the rabbit hole, and walk away, figuratively that is, right now; all you have to do is drop the subject, and we can talk about something else.”

  
  


“And if that’s not what I want to do, if I want to learn more?”

  
  


His gaze became intense, though Ruiko felt no desire to shrink beneath it.

  
  


Lips curling downward and into a frown, Hamasaki Tsubasa folded either of his arms across his chest. The makeshift ambulance, he and Saten Ruiko’s unorthodox, twisted chariot turned a corner, and, then, came to a stop, before a set of traffic lights whose trio of illuminated, colour-based signals glowed a bright shade of red.

  
  


Untroubled students, presumably on their way home to their dormitories answered Academy City’s calls, broadcast over so many loudspeakers, scattered across the cityscapes; the time for City-wide curfew had apparently dawned, a curfew that neither Saten Ruiko nor Hamasaki Tsubasa would be capable of adhering to, for their own respective reasons.

  
  


“You don’t. But, for the sake of actually answering your question… then, Saten, you’re going to have to step all the way in, and let yourself fall down the rabbit hole. For all you know, you may never, _ever_ stop falling.”

  
  


“That’s frightening.”

  
  


Without another word between them, both fourth strongest level five in Academy City, Voidwalker, and the level zero middle schooler girl, who lacked any sort of esper power at all both continued on their way.

  
  


Saten Ruiko eventually came to lay herself back down on her stretcher, which she’d come to feel was quite unnecessary, at least for her, given her situation.

  
  


She could’ve easily seated herself upon one of the nearby, bench-like protrusions. Her knee was injured, yes, but she wasn’t bleeding out. She hadn’t suffered any sort of series trauma, especially not to her head.

  
  


As the heavily-armoured Anti-Skill vehicle, the vehicle utilized as a makeshift ambulance turned another corner, and then pushed forward, travelling down a straightened, narrow section of cobbled roadway, differing thoughts drifted through Hamasaki Tsubasa’s higher mind; considerations regarding reality, Academy City, SYSTEM, the “Artificial Heaven” which Aleister Crowley, Academy City’s General Superintendent and, effectively its dictator sought to forge, through some method or another – Gladio had never been properly briefed on the subject, something the fourth-ranked level five had always found rather ‘fishy’, if ‘fishy’ was the appropriate word to describe the situation.

  
  


For another twenty minutes’ time Saten Ruiko and Hamasaki Tsubasa held their ‘positions’ within the Anti-Skill vehicle; having rolled over, to one side, Saten Ruiko observed the world’s colours, shades of darkened brown, bright green, and plenty of silver passing her by, through the porthole-like window to her right. So clear, so free of any sort of smudges or blemishes that at first glance she wouldn’t have assumed there to have been a pane of glass present at all. All the while her eyelids remained open, only blinking occasionally.

  
  


Soon enough, before the entrance to the Anti-Skill vehicle’s destination, covered beneath the protective shade of a great, canopy-like section of roofing, helped to rise by two almost absurdly thin, ornate and delicately, mindfully-designed, pillar-like supports.

  
  


The following procedures, each part of a greater routine, one practised, rehearsed again, and again, were each carried out with vaguely dull, unenthusiastic attention to detail; each was, if anything notable at all, machinations of two drones in a hive, two mere cogs in a figurative machine much greater than either of them.

  
  


With caution, Saten Ruiko’s stretcher, and, by extension, Saten Ruiko herself were wheeled through the hospital’s doorway. Granting them entrance, either of the ornate sliding doors slipping out of existence, sliding as they did into the inner workings of the walls to accompany the makeshift medical professionals, who in Hamasaki Tsubasa’s eyes seemed more like menial labourers transporting a haul of cargo as opposed to two individuals who legitimately cared about the life that was, for the time, in their respective hands.

  
  


With the fourth-ranked level five not far behind, Saten Ruiko’s eyes found themselves, mostly of their own accord gazing up at the silver-tones of the ceiling, remaining safely and less-than-securely upon her stretcher – apparently, the Anti Skill Operatives had forgotten to strap her in at all, let alone strap her in securely – was loaded, flanked by her unenthusiastic short-term wards at her side onto an elevator car.

  
  


Three floors the car did travel, up to the fourth.

  
  


Though, to all involved, save the ‘professionals’ if they truly could’ve been called that, even in name only, it was a randomly-selected decision, chosen perhaps for the sake of convenience, this simply wasn’t the truth. The fourth floor of [Hasegawa](https://www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/hasegawa?role=S) Hospital’s nine floors was, in fact, the “Physical Injury Ward”.

  
  


Passing the second floor by, all of those on board the car heard guttural, feral screams, screams of unadulterated agony, born of the passing, of civilized mannerisms left behind; someone’s mind, likely that of a woman’s, if the shrillness of the screams were to be taken into account.

  
  


“Childbirth,” the Anti-Skill Operative of dark-skinned descent remarked, passingly, “my wife made the same banshee shrieks. Nothing for you to worry about, folks in the Maternity Ward know what they’re doing.”

  
  


“A sucker born every second,” the other Anti-Skill officer added with a slight chuckle, one which his co-worker didn’t return.

  
  


Looking down at his smartphone, which he’d produced from the back pocket of his pants, the second officer observed the touchscreen device, as he tapped at its touchscreen interface, scrolling downward, downward, then across, and across once more.

  
  


“Red, red, red… all looking red,” he murmured.

  
  


Soon enough, the unremarkable, chalk-coloured, metallic slabs that served as the doors of the fourth floor’s elevator shaft were forcibly pulled open, through numerous electronic mechanisms located beyond the sight of most, save perhaps an electromaster.

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa produced a low grunt; he was becoming just as grim-minded as Saten Ruiko’s temporary wards, who, gripping onto the rails of her stretcher wheeled her along, like she was little more than some object to be transferred, a simple part of some greater quota, a number, a mere statistic.

  
  


Everything about the medical treatment facility was almost sickeningly sterile, by the standards of the fourth-ranked level five. A facility tailored to assist the injured and the needy in recovery should’ve been bright, colourful, lively, a place where growth was encouraged through visual mediums. Even some simple paintings along the walls depicting landscapes, animals most found to be ‘cute’, anything would’ve sufficed.

  
  


In Tsubasa’s mind, the sterile environment served to make a silent statement.

  
  


Academy City simply didn’t care about those it was supposed to be caring for, developing, and moulding into proper adults, contributing members of a society that, beyond its wretched walls was at least functional, by all definitions.

  
  


With a shake of his head, the fourth-ranked level five focused on the eyes of Saten Ruiko for a moment, as if he had to physically cleanse himself.

  
  


As she offered her friend a surprisingly warm grin, accentuated with an affirmative nod of her head, Hamasaki Tsubasa grinned back, as best he could manage; the fact that Academy City simply didn’t care obviously hadn’t been displayed quite enough. If those who lived in Academy City could still smile, that was the ultimate proof.

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five’s downtrodden contemplation, that which he’d vowed to keep to himself and not infect his few close friends with continued while down one of many halls on the [Hasegawa](https://www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/hasegawa?role=S) Hospital, the ‘journey’ pressed on.

  
  


Many metallic doors lined the walls, flanking either side of the hall, boxing it in. Above each, there were many small boxes, contained within protective ‘nets’ of metal, tiny, individual beams crossed over one another; beneath, most of these boxes glowed a bright shade of red.

  
  


This indicated that each of the rooms were full to the absolute brim with patients, who through means unknown to Voidwalker had each suffered injuries grievous enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.

  
  


To Hamasaki Tsubasa, it was hardly a surprise at all. Obviously, the machinations of the “Sons of Taured” were going perfectly, according to whatever plan they’d concocted. Espers, those who attempted to wield the power of magic while improperly performing whatever strange purification ritual had been outlined in the Taured pamphlets, were dropping like flies, and more than likely, that was the intended purpose of the pamphlets.

  
  


While else would such risky endeavours be recommended within the pamphlets’ pages?

  
  


Soon enough, before the fourth-ranked level five had been given enough time to lose himself within his own mind the cargo that was an injured Saten Ruiko came to a stop.

  
  


“There we go… a green, thought we were all out,” the second Anti-Skill officer spoke aloud, turning to face the first.

  
  


In response, the Anti-Skill officer of dark-skinned descent released a pent-up breath, releasing carbon dioxide, and from the zip-up pocket of his vest produced a small key card. With a swipe, pulling it downward through the rather unwieldy locking mechanism upon which the door’s curved handle was mounted, the door opened.

  
  


“Hope they find out why these kids are dropping every second,” the first officer spoke, more to himself than to anyone else. “We’re going to be full up, soon. Damn shame.”

  
  


Ruiko’s transporters ended their odyssey; having turned a series of corners, weaving throughout the many halls of the hospital’s fourth floor, they’d arrived before a metallic door, identical in style, shape, and in decoration to most other doors within school district seven’s [Hasegawa](https://www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/hasegawa?role=S) Hospital, save the sliding panes of glass, bound within metal frames that’d parted to permit entrance to the facility.

  
  


Unlike most other doors, those which inevitably lead into hospital rooms – at least, that which had been ‘selected’ by Saten Ruiko’s transporters – had a protected box above it which glowed a bright shade of green.

  
  


As the door was pulled open, seemingly of its own accord, but in truth by a series of mechanisms wired and put to work by some faceless engineer within the walls, unseen and unknown by those who were present, what was revealed was a surprisingly spacious area complete with four proper hospital beds, equipment relevant to the treatment of physical injuries including numerous first aid kits, each mounted upon the sterile, beige walls of the area, and a small if comfortable-looking kitchen, complete with a sitting area.

  
  


What caught the respective eyes of both Hamasaki Tsubasa and Saten Ruiko, however weren’t the room’s accommodations, even if those were quite impressive in and of themselves.

  
  


It was the automaton nurses who, rolling about on the wheels beneath them that meandered about, tending to the two other patients who’d come to find temporary lodgings in the hospital rooms.

  
  


“UNIT ONLINE EXTENDING VERBAL GREETING TO PATIENT, UNIT IDENTIFICATION CODE N DASH ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO PREPARING FOR RESTORATION PROCEDURES.”

  
  


Her mood suddenly performing a swift one-eighty; Saten Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl and self-proclaimed “Urban Legend hunter” whipped her head in the direction of the fourth-ranked level five who could only offer her a crooked, if genuinely mirthful smirk.

  
  


“O-oh… my… GOSH… ROBOTS ARE HERE! Actual ROBOT NURSES?!”

  
  


With ‘headbands’ atop each of their metallic shells, wide and white in coloration, with bright red crosses in the centre of each, the robotic nurses were approximately four and a half feet tall, mere cylindrical constructs similar in their construction to those which patrolled Academy City’s streets, and cleaned up discarded trash.

  
  


The real difference, outside of aesthetic appeal, such as the robotic nurses’ bands, and their aprons which bore larger crosses similar in shape and colour to those depicted upon their ‘headbands’ was the fact that unlike janitorial constructs, these automaton medical professionals possessed arms, elongated and slim, with three pudgy, metallic digits jutting from each arm.

  
  


Sliding forward from the hospital room’s dining area, an automaton medical profession seemingly glared at the Anti-Skill officers, who after exchanging glances with one another left the premises, allowing the door to close behind them with a series of clicks; their respective jobs were finished.

  
  


As the automaton approached, Hamasaki Tsubasa observed its movements, ready to strike the thing down at any moment if it so much as touched Saten Ruiko the wrong way. Though his concerns were unfounded, partially due to the gentle treatment of the room’s other patients by identical machines, unfounded or otherwise, suspicions were present, and were hardly about to suddenly stop existing within his mind.

  
  


“SAFETY VIOLATION IDENTIFIED, CODE SEVEN, ZERO, FOUR, THREE, FIVE, EIGHT, ZERO, SEVEN,” the thing rambled off, in the synthetic, machine-produced voice of a nondescript female, quickly, but methodically speaking in Japanese, “PATIENT IMPROPERLY SECURED. RECOMMENDED ACTION, BASED ON ELEMENTS OF LOCATION: MOVE PATIENT TO SUPERIOR PLACE OF TREATMENT.”

  
  


Accidentally bumping its form against the fourth-ranked level five, the robotic nurse took to the side of the stretcher, upon which Saten Ruiko sat, as best as she could manage given the fact that only one of her legs was operable.

  
  


Apparently, the Anti-Skill officers had deigned to leave the stretcher behind completely. Perhaps they’d intentionally done so, for whatever reason? No flesh and blood human in the room could possibly begin to try and predict their machinations, not even the fourth strongest esper in Academy City.

  
  


“POSING INQUIRY TO PATIENT: “WHERE DOES IT HURT?” the automaton medical professional questioned, almost looming forward, as its sole, thin eye, lifeless and without so much as a single tone of coloration locked with Saten Ruiko’s big, blue eyes.

  
  


Looking downward, the middle schooler girl pointed her left hand’s index finger at her right kneecap, which, even in a short span of time, had begun to ‘glow’ a darkened shade of blue, in certain spots.

  
  


“My knee,” Ruiko remarked, trying her best to keep her line of sight focused on the automaton medical professional before her.

  
  


For a moment, the machine didn’t respond; it stopped moving completely, and, momentarily, began to awkwardly shudder, from one side and then to the other. On the front of the machine, below its ‘eye’, two sections of its shell slid inward, revealing portions of the machine’s innards. From within, two small funnel-like protrusions suddenly jutted outward, either of which were quickly flanked by its three-‘fingered’ arms.

  
  


From the left section of shell, sliding downward, inside of the left funnel-like protrusion, there were numerous tapping sounds, as if something was bouncing and clacking inside.

  
  


Lifting its left arm, the automaton medical professional extended its hand-less arm, flanked with its three digits upward and outward, clasping in its three digits a small, circular and completely white tablet.

  
  


“HAVE A PILL. HYPERACETAMINOPHEN WILL HELP TO QUICKLY SOOTHE YOUR PAIN. PLEASE ALLOW UNIT N-ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO TO OBTAIN FOR YOU A BEVERAGE WHICH YOU MAY YOU USE TO AID INGESTION.”

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa shook his head; leaning forward, he placed either of his hands upon the soft, surprisingly comfortable, and cushioned surface of the stretcher upon which Saten Ruiko sat. Turning to face her friend, Ruiko blinked, once, twice and then allowed the awkward stare-off to continue.

  
  


“You _have_ taken Acetaminophen before? If you haven’t, there’s always a fair chance that you could be allergic.”

  
  


“I did, Doc,” Ruiko remarked, “I actually got kind of hooked on them when I had tonsillitis a few months ago. I mean I’M NOT AN ADDICT OR ANYTHING! I didn’t get high on them! Eheheheheh… Hehehe… I just liked the pain relief, that’s all! It helped me sleep! D-Don’t take that the wrong way… I’ve never had “Hyperacetaminophen” before though.”

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five, initially surprised that Saten Ruiko could somehow continue to be that spunky level zero middle schooler girl she’d always been, even after more than likely facing down an agent of Academy City’s underworld soon corrected his way of thinking; of course she’d remain on top of things. That was hardly a surprise.

  
  


Quickly, Saten Ruiko, her knee suddenly throbbing, having accidentally and unconsciously attempted to move her right leg as she’d spoken to her friend snatched the tablet from the machine’s hand; regardless of the fact that the medication had been produced from within the body of a robot dressed up like a nurse, Ruiko wasn’t about to turn the prospect of relief away.

  
  


In her mind, the worst potential outcome would be a potentially volatile reaction her body would, or could have, resulting in some brief if profuse and painful vomiting.

  
  


“I don’t need water, thanks… Mrs… Robot,” Ruiko elaborated, as the machine seemed to continually dote over her, just as Hamasaki Tsubasa had stopped doing, following her previous explanation-statement hybrid.

  
  


“CORRECTION, PATIENT: UNIT N-ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO IS A NON-GENDER AUTOMATON, ROUGHLY PRICED AT ¥82,918,” the machine rambled.

  
  


As it turned out, “Hyperacetaminophen” was, indeed, rather ‘hyper’; within the span of some few seconds, likely less even than thirty, the specially-engineered and heavily modified chemical formula which had been applied in order to augment the relief of the medication had taken effect inside of Saten Ruiko’s body; the throbbing pain which had persisted prior was eradicated or, at the very least subdued by the Hyperacetaminophen’s fast-acting relief.

  
  


Leaning back in her stretcher, resting the back of her head against the surface of the headrest, Saten Ruiko produced a long, soft sigh just before she was effortlessly lifted from the bed by the arms of the robotic medical professional who’d taken to looking after her.

  
  


Either, extending from the machine’s body and apparently mounted upon metallic beams, which were apparently capable of jutting outward, presumably at will, or, whenever the machine deemed arm extension necessary, Academy City’s fourth strongest esper observed cautiously as his close friend was transported from the emptied stretcher and to the nearby hospital bed, a carefree, oddly goofy smile etched onto her facial features. Her eyes had rolled, halfway, into the back of her head, and, occasionally, she suddenly began produce a series of soft giggles.  
  
  


“Hyperacetaminophen” indeed.


	7. Level Six Shift

There was a strange, unknown almost queer duality of sorts, a proverbial clashing of concepts, a conflict of outlooks on the world and of differing states of being, something that Saten Ruiko found difficult to properly perceive, understand or even comprehend on the simplest of levels, so oddly unfamiliar was it.

  
  


Without a doubt she’d never felt more confused, warm, affectionate, scared, hopeful, worried, concerned and unnerved before. So many twisting emotions, thoughts and feelings coalescing into a single mass deep within her mind.

  
  


Seemingly of their own accord, each element, each state of being seemed to figuratively hold one another’s hands, each working to form a daisy chain around her.

  
  


Placing their differences aside, these feelings, these states of existence formed a collation whose sole purpose was made infinitely clear, ironically enough given the rushing, rapidly-beating heart within Ruiko’s, whose thoughts were running wild, nearly beyond the scope of her own control.

  
  


“Saten, before I leave… the Super Secret Handshake Code of Super Secrecy? It needs to be done.”

  
  


Moving toward her ‘best friend’ as best she could, ignoring the presence of the machine that continued to observe her, repeatedly producing mechanical whirring, something not unlike the continuous spinning of a mechanized fan’s blades, Saten Ruiko extended her own arm and with her own hand clenched into a fist, she held the extremity mere inches from Hamasaki Tsubasa’s own.

  
  


The muscles within Ruiko’s face etched a thin, if genuine grin upon her facial features.

  
  


“In the name of great justice, let’s do the Super Secret Handshake Code of Super Secrecy.”

  
  


Clack.

  
  


Two sets of knuckles gently knocked against one another, once, twice, a third and then a fourth time; then, their hands were brought upwards, downwards and repeatedly struck one another, as if the two were attempting to play some violent rendition of ‘Rock, Paper Scissors’.

  
  


“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake cake, Baker’s Man, make me a giant mutated sentient and highly intelligent slug with osteoporosis as fast as you can,” Saten Ruiko spoke, softly, in hopes of not offending anyone within earshot who potentially suffered from the aforementioned physical disability.

  
  


From where Saten Ruiko left off, the fourth-ranked level five picked up, speaking in an equally hushed tone of voice.

  
  


“Roll it, pat it, mark it with a “do not disturb”, and put it in the dungeon to eat dirty thieves.”

  
  


With a giggle, Saten Ruiko shook her head, as she rubbed either of her temples with her left hand’s index finger and thumb.

  
  


“We’re so screwed up,” she spoke with a giggle. “I’ll keep you updated with what’s going on here, I m-mean, er, I-if… if that’s what you’re wanting.”

  
  


As he began to truly take his first steps toward his leave, the fourth-ranked level five remarked, “Only if you’re feeling up to not breaking my heart. Seriously, I’d prefer it, but you don’t have to. Even just letting me know when you’re feeling up to par is acceptable. Or, you don’t have to do anything of the sort, it’s on you. Take care, and… get well soon, Ruiko.”

  
  


“Maybe, if I use my maximum willpower, I can rapidly heal my own injury… that’s a new Urban Legend to look into! Maybe someone can already do that! Mister Regeneration, the Man Who Couldn’t Die! Anyways… er, uh, good luck with your researcher stuff, Hamasaki-san,” Ruiko exclaimed, as the fourth-ranked level five esper took his leave, proper. “Don’t let them take chunks of your brain and use them to clone a giant super-brain! Remember what I mentioned before? All Urban Legends have a starting point, and that starting point is the TRUTH! TRUUUTTHHH! I’ll make sure to chat with you.”

  
  


Hardly able to even make the simplest of attempts to restrain the smirk that crossed his facial features, born of Saten Ruiko’s constant, evidently infinite supply of spunky personality, Tsubasa effortlessly succeeded at opening the hospital room’s door – apparently, the locking mechanism didn’t require a key card to open from the inside – and stepped out, ensuring that he closed the door properly preventing any potential would-be intruders from storming the hospital room, for whatever reason they could’ve possessed to perform such an act of intrusion.

  
  


He certainly would’ve stayed longer if ‘duty’ hadn’t been perpetually, silently calling.

  
  


The games, Academy City’s plotting to achieve the advancement they’d long identified simply as SYSTEM were ongoing as they always were, and he, the competitor, the star ‘athlete’, he couldn’t miss out.

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five’s solace came in the fact that, no matter what, _she_ would come first. As friend or as something more, if such a future could be reached out to and obtained, _she_ would always come first.

  
  


It was exactly for that reason, not only to soothe and achieve his own personal desires but to ensure for _her,_ Saten Ruiko a place where the likes of those who dwelled in the embrace of the underworld would not lurk just beyond her view, that he would pursue what he pursued.

  
  


So long as those who fed its voracious appetite continued unabated as they did, engaging in the activities they likely had always engaged in, somewhere at some point in time, whether within Academy City’s border walls or beyond them, the underworld, the “Dark Side” of Academy City would persist as an ugly, misshapen tumour.

  
  


If the so-called “Dark Side” of Academy City was a cancer, then he the fourth-ranked level five, Voidwalker would act as the chemotherapy.

  
  


And so it was for that reason Hamasaki Tsubasa would work alongside them. It was for that reason, as Hamasaki Tsubasa took his leave from medical facility, unchallenged by employed personnel – there would be little reason to attempt to halt the progress of those inconspicuous and uninjured who’d chose to come and go in a medical facility dedicated to physical, rather than mental healthy recovery – that he held Academy City’s seventeenth school district as his upcoming destination.

  
  


It was for that reason the fourth-ranked level five was giving Academy City exactly what it wanted, over, and over, and _over_.

  
  


February 12th, 2004. 1:13 AM.

  
  


Preparations had been necessary; but there he was, at long last. The exodus complete, Hamasaki Tsubasa was present and accounted for.

  
  


The limited light provided by the glow of the great, uninhabited chunk of space rock that orbited the blue and green world, Earth, brought illumination to the ‘side’ of the world where Academy City had been long ago constructed; beneath these lunar rays, a switchyard in Academy City’s seventeenth school district was mere moments away from receiving a visitor.

  
  


Beneath the rolling tires of the vehicle which he had wrongfully pilfered, scattered pebbles, smaller pieces of objects – in this case, stones much greater, much larger than their ‘offspring’ – were forcibly ejected or otherwise outright crushed beneath the vehicle’s weight.

  
  


The fourth strongest esper in Academy City observed his surroundings, as best he could while he drove alone, lacking any sort of moving obstacles to concern himself with.

  
  


A thought, a consideration, an observation regarding the world around him passed him by.

  
  


It was almost humorous just how simple of a task it truly was to commit a crime in a place like Academy City. So long as one was important to the City’s endgame goals they could effectively do whatever they wanted, so long as the experimental, underage chattel were kept unaware.

  
  


One could even get away with murder, so long as they, the murderer, happened to be in cahoots with the City.

  
  


“ _Academy City is Hell.”_

  
  


An example lesser than the example of a murderer’s unpunished crimes was right in front of Hamasaki Tsubasa; in fact, he was inside of the example itself.

  
  


A personal shuttle, a vehicle, an object, _something_ that cost _someone_ plenty of yen was easily and unlawfully gained through the simplest of acts, a mere series of calculations performed in just the right way, simple desires made manifest through the use of physics and mathematically-based formulas.

  
  


These very sorts of thought pattern were inspired to traverse the winding passageways of Hamasaki Tsubasa’s higher mind as the distance between his pilfered vehicle and Test Site A8.

  
  


One of the very same locations utilized in the Level Six Shift Experiments focused around the Accelerator’s ability development.

  
  


Whether it was mere convenience or a matter of outright irony, the fourth-ranked level five likely wouldn’t know. Kihara Gensei, the elderly man whose mind was slowly, perpetually slipping from his grasp, not unlike a wayward child seeking to leave their parents’ proverbial nesting ground when he wasn’t acting like a complete psychopath, was almost a pathetic sight to see, so nostalgic and unexpectedly, so melancholic.

  
  


At the very least, the mouldering corpses of the Sisters clones were likely bagged up and incinerated, or otherwise buried in some stinking landfill, where the beasts who would gladly feast on rotting carrion would be incapable of even utilizing the clones’ remains in order to further their own collective life-cycles.

  
  


Academy City was certainly good at making the site of more than one gruesome killing look innocuous enough, for a City-State absolutely dedicated to giving incredible superpowers to children under the age of eighteen.

  
  


With a shake of his head, Tsubasa looked downward, toward his pilfered vehicle’s dashboard where among other necessities, the vehicle’s steering wheel, ignition, numerous knobs, stick-like protrusions, and glowing or otherwise blinking icons were located, the latter being located above the vehicle’s steering wheel, the screen, likely utilizing LED or alternatively LCD technology was protected by a fairly thick layer of fibreglass. Evidently, the vehicle wasn’t a make that possessed a touchscreen interface. Primitive.

  
  


Located on that virtual interface, Tsubasa searched for a simplistic icon that would decide the pilfered vehicle’s fate.

  
  


Simply enough what he sought out was located by him, as his eyes’ vision looked over the interface. The icon, depicting the small, pixilated image of a Jerry can glowing a bright shade of orange as all of the icons located within the virtual interface did, repeatedly and rapidly blinked, off and on, seemingly at a fixed rate and intervals.

  
  


Tsubasa produced a disapproving sigh. The vehicle wasn’t even a hybrid, not even a partial hybrid that could offer the choice between electric power and power based on consumption and subsequent ignition of gasoline. The vehicle’s model was practically ancient, something straight out of the Jurassic Period; or it might as well have been something out of the Jurassic Period, at least.

  
  


Unlocking the vehicle’s driver’s side door, the fourth-ranked level five stepped out from within the vehicle, carefully stepping away from its location while occasionally looking downward, toward the asphalt beneath him, as, with each individual inch he moved, his steps were measured.

  
  


For any potential onlookers, namely those within Academy City’s top ranks who found themselves perched in ‘high places’, Hamasaki Tsubasa called forth with the use of his developed Personal Reality, two thrashing limbs constructed of void energy, the one element he could properly control, the very element most human beings would never encounter.

  
  


Each vaguely resembling a human being’s arm, right and left proper, surged outward and hovered at either side of the vehicle, their great palms outstretched, their few, clawed fingers pointed outward, and away from their wrists.

  
  


Inward they moved, the abandoned, pilfered vehicle, the fruits of some poor soul’s labours the intended target of their wrath.

  
  


Accenting the movement was a sound not unlike a roaring clap of thunder, something between the forced crunching of the vehicle’s plastic-forged outer shell being crushed, with well over thirty thousand newtons of force, and the screaming of its metallic innards as they too, even within, were torn and shredded like sheets of paper deemed to have been irreparably sullied with some kind of grammatical crime against the Japanese language.

  
  


For the span of a few moments the pilfered vehicle was perpetually shrunk, until it was little more than a jagged, vaguely cube-shaped mess, with twisted protrusions emerging from within. What little gasoline that’d remained inside of the damaged gas tank leaked out, and began to puddle around the cubed remnants that’d once been an operable vehicle.

  
  


With a roll of his shoulders, he knew the real deal, the events that would define the future, no matter how insignificant they might’ve seemed, in that moment, were about to begin.

  
  


An obsessive, intrusive thought passed through his higher mind, not inquiring as to whether it was welcome, and, evidently, not caring all that much about personal space, either.

  
  


“ _Only seventy-five to go.”_

  
  


Just over six hundred of them had fallen – voidclones – emotionless, unfeeling constructions, quite literally, in a manner of speaking, birthed into the world, and then ripped from it.

  
  


This cycle of events rotated, changing, yet in a manner of speaking always remaining the same, from one stage to another, in pursuit of what lay within each voidclone, produced as a by-product of their creation.

  
  


At the very least, ‘killing’ the unfeeling, void-born automatons had become a task easier on the fourth-ranked level five’s conscience.

  
  


The real, standout ‘issue’ was that time, as always, as it always seemed to be, no matter the circumstance, be it peaceful or ridden with conflict found itself to be of the essence.

  
  


Gathering void energies into the palms of his hands seemingly from nowhere, tendrils, resembling stream-like ribbons shaped not unlike funnel clouds, Hamasaki Tsubasa reminded himself of exactly what was at stake, and evidently for whatever reason, what Kihara Gensei too sought to undermine.

  
  


For someone who spent so much time lurking around in the blackened underbelly of Academy City, Kihara Gensei definitely sought to see its research on esper abilities brought to a halt.

  
  


With a reminding, proverbial slap to the face, delivered in the form of a passing, disciplinary thought, Tsubasa recalled that in the reality beyond his own Personal Reality, he lacked the time to speculate.

  
  


So long as the goal set to be achieved by the lab coat-wearing drones with their spectacles and their aloof, unconcerned attitudes towards their fellow man was the establishment of SYSTEM, unspoken and unseen horrors beyond the comprehension of even the wildest of imaginations would continue to plague the Japanese City-State that supposedly dedicated itself solely to the innocuous, if mildly unconventional desire to further ‘the development and nurturing of esper abilities within young, bright minds’. The next, natural development in human evolution.

  
  


In order to bring about an end to that, some sacrifices would have to be made, some rules would have to be broken, some laws would have to be violated, and to an extent some personal hypocrisies would have to be enacted.

  
  


Moreover, some risks would have to be taken.

  
  


Focusing as intently as he possibly could, this seemingly simple task was made much more difficult than it should’ve been. Along the curling, rising and falling highways flanking, and, to a lesser extent, surrounding Academy City’s seventeenth school district, vehicular traffic seemed to perpetually soar back and forth, back and forth, left to right, right to left, north to south, south to north, as if those who commandeered their vehicles never had to – or alternatively never sought to, for even a moment – think of anything beyond driving from one end of Academy City and then to the other, tormenting each other for the amusement of some sadistic higher entity.

  
  


Drivers honked their vehicles’ horns at one another, wordlessly attempting to criticize each other’s perceived inability to properly drive.

  
  


The fourth-ranked level five’s temples throbbed as he forcibly ground his teeth together, cursing under his breath, swearing at an individual who wasn’t there, never having existed in the first place.

  
  


It didn’t seem like it would ever end, and the incessant blaring interrupted Voidwalker’s very thought process, silencing his calculations each and every time he would begin to perform them.

  
  


What didn’t soothe the fourth-ranked level five’s frustration was the reality that the district itself, despite being the heart of Academy City’s industrial sector seemed to have little ground or even air-based traffic of its own. The dull, dark-toned roadways of asphalt and the slimmed walkways of simple grey concrete were equally unappealing on both an aesthetic and practical level when compared to the specifically-designated travel locales found in other, more ‘people-friendly’ districts.

  
  


Perhaps if they weren’t so complex in nature, his higher mind and henceforth his Personal Reality wouldn’t have so terribly struggled in functioning, faced with near-constant distractions.

  
  


With a wordless, nearly primal vocalization of frustration and resentment alike, Tsubasa did what he could to gather his wits and began performing the necessary calculations, projecting the relevant formulas, applying, as the needed element in each, the one thing he could produce; void.

  
  


What he set out to accomplish was not at all unlike the stages of a human child’s formation: insemination, conception, subsequent fetal development, and, finally, following the nearing of the ghoulish, twisted mirror image of gestation’s completion, expulsion.

  
  


Before him, his mind working its science, a rather large, spherical mass of collected void began to form, its genesis made physical, even its limited visual presentation; contributing to its formation were ribbons of void energies, leaking outward from the palms of Voidwalker’s hands, each linking together, and forming complex, individual sections of the overall mass.

  
  


Seemingly originating from within the spherical mass itself, great, crackling streams of purple, darkened tones of blue, and streams altogether devoid of any and all pigmentation, simply appearing to be paradoxically formed of utterly black nothingness, the streams, resembling bolts of lightning surged outwardly and repeatedly shifted direction.

  
  


For a mere moment the spherical mass ‘wobbled’ as increasingly, perpetually enlarging, crackling and multicoloured ‘bolts’ were emitted.

  
  


Most would not have known of it, however, the chemical makeup of the spherical mass’s discharges was certainly not anywhere even close to that of Earth’s naturally-generated lightning; it was, instead, a physical, forceful phenomenon beyond the phenomenon which planet Earth could produce, naturally or otherwise.

  
  


It was the element that wasn’t an element at all. It was the non-element, a force which should not have been, made real through the use of an esper ability’s reaching out and touching what would have been better left untouched.

  
  


If one could’ve, upon witnessing the formation of an unsightly, unstable-seeming sphere, continued to compare the process of creating constructs from a raw elemental force that the average human being would’ve never come into contact with or even ever known of to the act of a human fetus’ conception, an act oftentimes considered to be sacred, then the unsightly spherical mass could be compared to the womb of a human female, a place of incubation.

  
  


In the advent of the spherical mass’s completion, the thin, nearly invisible layer of void surrounding every last surface of the fourth-ranked level five’s form closed the brief distance between itself, and the skin of Academy City’s fourth strongest ability user, he who’d created and maintained it.

  
  


No immense pain came, nor did the flesh of he who called the void forth suddenly begin searing, as if being eaten by flickering, licking flames.

  
  


Instead, every inch of Hamasaki Tsubasa’s flesh, from the crown of his head, to the soles of his feet seemed to begin itching, as every individual hair on his form began to stand on ends, rising, like a great monument erected by some civilization whose greatest achievement would be forged of stone materials.

  
  


There was a reason why the fourth-ranked level five ensured the layer of void remained away from his flesh, ensuring that it, always would remain floating, perpetually existing mere inches away from his body.

  
  


The void energies and by extension the calculations that would substitute the elements common in electrophoresis, DNA sequencing, with unworldly void energies needed something from which a duplicate could be formed, after all.

  
  


Within the span of mere seconds, which, from the perspective of the chilled, shuddering, and utterly shaken Hamasaki Tsubasa felt more like the span of many long and particularly gruelling hours, the layer which often was made to hover around he who’d called its power into the world was forcibly ejected, utilizing physics-based calculations, resulting in the near-invisible mass being hurled forward, not unlike a baseball clutched in hand, thrown outward by the thrust of a child’s wrist, momentum and kinetic force taken properly and relevantly into account.

  
  


If the shifting sphere of void could in a non-literal circumstance be continually compared with the womb of a human female, then, given such, the ejected energies could hypothetically be compared to the parting of follicle cells surrounding a hypothetical human woman’s proverbial ovum, and the subsequent, figurative insertion of a hypothetical human male’s proverbial gamete.

  
  


The sequenced DNA of the fourth-ranked level five was forcibly injected into the spherical mass of energies; with a sigh of relief, Tsubasa, continuously ignoring all outside stimuli as best he could in order to prevent himself from being distracted was able to find solace in the knowledge that the hardest leap, the greatest bound and the most daunting of hurdles in the gruelling, overly-long and almost unnecessarily complex process had come to a close.

  
  


The subsequent and final stretch of the fourth-ranked level five’s self-cloning process would practically complete itself; all Tsubasa would have to do was wait until the voidclones started to plop out, complete with the sections of fully-formed brains that were required for a swift harvesting.

  
  


His lips curled upward, forging something of a crooked grin.

  
  


He had utterly defeated, utterly, utterly unmade the fifth-ranked level five, the fifth _strongest_ esper in all of Academy City, she who in the state she’d entered easily could’ve annihilated in a single, non-concentrated, wild and wrathful blast the likes of the third and second ranked level fives.

  
  


Surely, he who had withstood such an all-out assault – not only withstood, but emerged with not so much as a single scrape upon his body’s skin – could deal with a few dozen copies of himself, each ranked approximately at the general level of talent he’d possessed when he’d existed aimlessly as one among so many espers ranked at level four, going through the motions of everyday life in Academy City.

  
  


It was with this sense of bravado, or, perhaps, confidence – he couldn’t quite be certain which, for all he knew, he could’ve lingered on the edge of the thin line that separated bravado from confidence, figuratively drawing a proverbial border between them – that he watched on, as his mind processed the information that needed to be processed, subtracted what needed to be subtracted, added what needed to be added, and substituted what needed to be substituted.

  
  


It was through these methods, the calculations, the formulas, the adjusting and warping of elements in an equation that soon lead to the production – truly, production was the only word fit to describe the end result of the process – of a grotesque, gaping hole, located in the centre of the spherical void mass.

  
  


Forced outward from within, falling forward, only to suddenly catch itself, ‘collapsing’ onto its hands and knees not unlike the position Tsubasa assumed a lowly peasant would’ve taken while bowing before some haughty and perpetually spoon-fed monarch was something that resembled the high school-aged boy who’d birthed it into the world.

  
  


Not identical, it looked more like his shadow, a trick of the light, had suddenly gained sentience, and decided to part from its originator. It possessed every curve, every contour, every peak and jutting protrusion of Hamasaki Tsubasa’s form, but, it lacked any sort of details that could potentially identify it as a living thing that should’ve existed.

  
  


Hues of purple, dark tones of blue, and a complete lack of pigmentation, utter darkness swam across the forged, created, artificially-designed _thing_.

  
  


As it rose, it faced its originator, the level five esper who had brought it into existence, who had neglected to provide it with any sort of intellectual functions, any sort of individuality, any sort of life, Hamasaki Tsubasa didn’t stop.

  
  


Effectively, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City had created a factory, with an assembly line that existed only within his own mind, powered only by his own Personal Reality, and tended to only by his own thoughts.

  
  


With the factory in motion, proper, capable of spewing out faceless, featureless voidclones, Tsubasa would merely have to repeat the process another seventy-four times. Seventy-four additional voidclones would be birthed into a world in which their sole purpose was predestined.

  
  


If Kihara Gensei was watching, Tsubasa assumed him to be experiencing quite the nostalgia trip, indeed; the old man was likely crying tears, a truly foul concoction of pure, liquefied evil, joy, and the sense made manifest that, even in Academy City, the world’s greatest hub of scientific and technological mambo-jumbo, he would never recapture his perpetually-fading youth.

  
  


Regardless of what the rotting Kihara thought, regardless of who watched on, regardless of who questioned or doubted his path, Academy City’s fourth strongest esper would face seventy-five level four duplicates of himself, in time due soon.

  
  


February 12th, 2004. 9:32 PM.

  
  


“Saten-san, what have you gone and gotten yourself into, now? I swear, it’s always something with you…”

  
  


“Sorry, Shirai-san, I promise it was _super_ important!”

  
  


“Huh.”

  
  


“SATEN-SAN?! What do you _mean_ you’re in the HOSPITAL?! Shirai-san, what should we even do?! Saten-san could be horribly mangled! Maybe her pretty little face has been completely taken OFF by some maniac roaming the streets with a thirst for human blood!”

  
  


“Uiharu-san, you’re starting to sound exactly like her.”

  
  


“What happened, Saten-san?! You need to tell Shirai-san and I _right_ NOW! As officers of Judgment, it’s our shared duty to bring to justice and hand over to Anti Skill any wrongdoers! We…”

  
  


“Uiharu, Shirai-san, it’s all good, just calm down, I-I’m fine! I just messed my knee up, that’s all! It’s _never_ THAT big of a deal! Do you really think that a little knee injury is going to keep me down? No, ma’am, the answer is no!”

  
  


Saten Ruiko, having freshly showered in one of the hospital room’s multiple bathrooms, now clad in her simple, blue-green hospital gown, with her smartphone pressed to the side of her face – apparently, she was permitted to use the device in the hospital, as no automaton nurses came by to reprimand or even attempt to dissuade her from using the device, even to make calls – looked up to the ceiling of her hospital room, a space she shared with three other individuals, each of whom seemed to be in a progressively, medically shittier situation than Ruiko herself.

  
  


She, with her ‘busted knee’, as she’d come to call it, was simply set to follow a set of steps outlined by one of the automaton medical professionals. Whether it had been the same machine that’d originally been tending to her or another entirely, Ruiko could hardly even begin to try and be sure. Each and every single one of them were identical to one another.

  
  


“PRICE” was the name of the system in which the aforementioned steps were contained, according to the machine; Saten Ruiko would have to, one, **protect** her knee from further injury. Two, she would have to **rest** her ‘busted knee’, for, at the very least, three days, according to the automaton medical professional. Third, her ‘busted knee’ was perpetually, continuously covered with **ice packs** , the sensation of each bringing to the injured girl considerable comfort. Fourth, her knee had been successfully and cautiously **compressed** , with an elastic bandage set over her ‘busted knee’ by the surprisingly delicate hands of the robotic nurses. Finally, Saten Ruiko’s knee had been **elevated** , held upwards in a sling, though, it hadn’t required to be bound in any sort of cast.

  
  


“It seems that whenever you go off gallivanting with that level five friend of yours, Saten-san,” Kuroko began, “you two are always getting yourself into a predicament. I don’t think he’s good for you.”

  
  


“Shirai-san,” Uiharu Kazari reprimanded, “Saten-san can be friends whoever she likes! That’s not fair of you to say that.”

  
  


“It’s not untrue,” Kuroko retorted.

  
  


“In his defense,” Ruiko quickly began, poised to counter the level four teleporter girl’s scathing remarks, “even when I’m by myself, trouble seems to gravitate towards me.”

  
  


Then, an inquiry was posed; one which derailed the, at the time, current direction of the conversation shared by the three middle schooler girls.

  
  


“Which hospital are you currently interned in, Saten-san?”

  
  


Posed by Shirai Kuroko, Uiharu Kazari didn’t have a comeback, nor did she see anything particularly ‘offensive’ in a simple question. Regarding her own thoughts, Kazari realized that she had completely neglected to inquire at all, in regards to where, exactly, her friend was hospitalized.

  
  


“I’m stuffed in [Hasegawa](https://www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/hasegawa?role=S) Hospital,” was Ruiko’s response, which she quickly found herself backpedalling on. “I-I’m just k-kidding about being ‘stuffed’, by the way, it’s pretty nice here. The rooms have bathrooms, and kitchens, and everything, and the robot doctors are really nice. Nice enough for robots I guess!”

  
  


On the other end of the call, Shirai Kuroko nodded her head, seemingly in affirmation; with Uiharu Kazari, her fellow Judgment officer at her side, the two hundred and eighth dorm of Tokiwadai Middle School’s off-campus Dormitory was just a bit less lonely.

  
  


“Hasegawa, physical injuries and childbirth wards,” Shirai Kuroko muttered, more to herself than to Uiharu Kazari. In response to Kuroko’s soft vocalizations, the girl with the flowers upon her head had looked to her fellow officer’s direction. “Uiharu, are you coming?”

  
  


The level one Thermal Hand user quickly and repeatedly nodded her head.

  
  


“Let me text Haruue-san, just to let her know that I won’t be home right away! We’re coming, Saten-san! You’re not going to be alone any longer!”

  
  


Ruiko couldn’t help herself; she simple couldn’t even attempt to halt the river of giggling that overtook her. The ‘mummified’ individual, seemingly bound to the adjacent bed began to produce soft, muffled laughter, as well.

  
  


Whoever they were, Saten Ruiko was certainly impressed by their tenacity. In a situation such as theirs, she certainly wouldn’t have found herself laughing.

  
  


“You both are making a mountain out of an anthill,” she stated. “I’ll see you soon, I guess? You know you’re both going to be in deep doo-doo, especially you, Shirai-san, if your dorm supervisors find you out after curfew, right?”

  
  


Deviously, Uiharu Kazari uttered her response, before terminating the call, on her end.

  
  


“I’m sure Shokuhou-san and Mitsuari-san would be willing to help us out!”


	8. Level Six Shift - II

February 12 th , 2004.  1:48 A M.

  
  


With her smartphone pressed to the side of her face, Kinuhata Saiai, again and again, over and over commanded for the device’s built-in personal assistant to call the smartphone owned by Mugino Shizuri, who, surely, was still alive and well; absolutely, positively, there was no chance in the entire world that even a single scratch had managed to find its way onto the fifth-ranked level five’s flesh.

  
  


Ring, ring, ring, ring, riiiiinnnnngggggg. Ring, ring, ring, ring, riiiiinnnnngggggg.

  
  


Ring, ring, ring, ring, riiiiinnnnngggggg. Ring, ring, ring, ring, riiiiinnnnngggggg.

  
  


The level four Offense Armour user’s grip on her cellular device tightened, causing the chrome-bound outer shell to crack, and crunch beneath her grip, producing a series of unhealthy-sounding ‘vocalizations’.

  
  


Still, Saiai had to admit, the fact that the device was ringing at all was a good sign.

  
  


Not that any good signs were necessarily needed; Mugino Shizuri was _certainly_ unharmed. There was no way that someone like Mugino Shizuri could’ve possibly been harmed.

  
  


Even then, the Offense Armour user was forced to ask herself why exactly was it that she even cared about the Meltdowner. She was forced to admit that she’d asked herself a good question, one which didn’t have an easy answer, by any means of the imaginations.

  
  


“We’re sorry! Your call cannot be completed, as dialed! We’re directing you to this number’s voice queue! Please hold!”

  
  


Beep.

  
  


“Mugino here, if you need something, leave a message and might get back to you, if I’m feeling up to it. Bye.”

  
  


“ _Kinuhata, goddamn idiot, can’t you do ANYTHING right?! You, ride-along, what the fuck kind of cheap-ass power do you use?!”_

  
  


“ _Kinuhata, goddamn idiot!”_

  
  


The words echoed within Kinuhata Saiai’s mind, the scathing, scolding words, the only words she’d ever heard emerging from between the Meltdowner user’s lips.

  
  


Never had she uttered so much as a single word of praise towards her coworkers, those individuals who, terrified by the level five’s power were effectively reduced to becoming the Meltdowner user’s underlings.

  
  


“ _Hamazura_ _always got it the worst… even if he IS Hamazura-y, at least he treats Takitsubo with common decency… like an actual person.”_

  
  


Terminating the failed call from her end, Kinuhata Saiai stuffed her phone into the front pocket of her attire, the strange, heavily-customized hybrid of a sweater and a dress.

  
  


“ _You’re nowhere close to being powerless; you could easily start your own crew, and get things done for yourself, and take the full payout, plenty of Skill-Outs who need competent leaders. For once, baby doll, you could be in charge.”_

  
  


Even Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five esper, someone who had been diametrically opposed to her in that moment had spoken to Kinuhata Saiai with more respect than Mugino Shizuri ever had.

  
  


Speaking aloud to no one in particular, as she walked past the old family restaurant ITEM had spent considerable amounts of time and yen in, Kinuhata Saiai looked upward, toward the darkened sky, dotted by the glowing, sparkling celestial bodies known as ‘stars’.

  
  


“I’ll super shine, too, in my own way. I’m super finished with being pushed around by you.”

  
  


February 12th, 2004. 9:22 PM.

  
  


From the embrace of slumber’s darkness Frenda Seivelun was roused, more by her own internal, biological clock than by outside stimuli.

  
  


Against soft, warmed surfaces, of some sort, which turned out to be bed sheets upon closer inspection, and with a thick, woollen blanket cast over her form, the petite mercenary girl’s head was laid upon a thick and fluffy pillow, the sensation of which lead her to believe the pillow had been stuffed with real feathers, as opposed to bunches of cotton.

  
  


Scanning the room, moving her eyes about within her head, Frenda Seivelun cast her gaze about, from left to right, upwards and downwards, identifying her surroundings as quickly as she could, even as her brain felt as if it was about to explode inside of her skull.

  
  


It was a hospital room. The walls and ceilings, sterile, simply a dull shade of white, or something close to white in coloration, Frenda found herself bathed beneath the golden, synthetic illumination produced by the numerous, rectangular light fixtures mounted within ceiling.

  
  


Giving herself the chance to soak up the warmth, she, Frenda Seivelun, someone who’d come to practically live and breathe Academy City’s darkness had been hospitalized.

  
  


She might as well have been imprisoned.

  
  


It _was_ a prison sentence. As soon as the doctors, whoever they were, went out of their way to seek out her files in Academy City’s data banks, all would more than likely be revealed.

  
  


The room was small. It seemed to be growing smaller, the walls surrounding her, boxing her in, they threatened to begin, at any moment of their choosing – never mind the fact that the room’s walls weren’t sentient or even alive, at all – closing in on her. Claustrophobic.

  
  


Attempting to rise, Frenda’s progress was immediately brought to a grinding halt; biting into her lower lip, with as much force as her petite maw could muster in order to prevent an anguished scream from fleeing her lips, throbbing, wracking pain echoed throughout the petite mercenary girl’s knees, and through her lower legs, which shook, awkwardly, of their own accord.

  
  


Throwing back her sheets, and the comforter atop them, Frenda discovered a reality which shook her to her very core.

  
  


Her perfect, beautiful, slightly, smooth legs! They’d been _marred_! Casts, hardened, plastic supports, bound and reinforced with metallic frames were bound upon her knees. From within the casts, what looked like sections of Gauss bandaging poked out from their sides, individual, frayed threads made visible.

  
  


Right then, and right there, as she began to tear up, salty, liquid agony fleeing from the corners of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, and dripping towards her plain blue-green hospital gown, Frenda Seivelun considered attempting to snap her own neck, or swallow the entirety of the nearest bottle of painkillers, of which there were none, at all.

  
  


“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio!” Frenda Seivelun cried aloud, before she slipped back into the embrace of slumber, her body’s exhaustion beating her higher mind into submission, forcing the petite mercenary girl’s mind to play by her body’s rules.

  
  


February 12th, 2004. 9:28 PM.

  
  


While Saten Ruiko, the middle schooler girl who lacked any sort of esper ability despite having lived in Academy City for well over half of a decade found herself existing semi-comfortably, given the extended pain-relieving effects of the pill she’d been administered, the fourth strongest esper in not only the walled-off City-State but the entire world found himself in a considerably less comfortable locale, and in a considerably less comfortable situation.

  
  


Those who he’d called into the world of the living, the place blessed or perhaps cursed, depending on one’s outlook, by the warmth of life and birthed from an artificial womb constructed through cold, unfeeling calculations and forged in one reality through the use of another, waited without any sort of higher thought processes to guide them, without emotion and without feeling.

  
  


Even if they’d wished to live the best they could, given their circumstances, such an ability was beyond them. For all of their limited humanness, they were without.

  
  


Without a command, without being told explicitly what to do, and just how they were supposed to go about doing it, each of the seventy-five voidclones looked onward and outward, standing tall and at attention, like so many soldiers drafted to further an artificial conflict.

  
  


Featureless and multicoloured, there were seventy-five voidclones, level four puppets who bore the original’s likeness, at least in their shape; each lacked any defining features, as if each was some crooked, lifeless mannequin slapped together on an assembly line and doomed to forever exist propped up in a shop’s window, clad in tacky seasonal clothing.

  
  


As if it dared not show itself, the wind seemed to have fled entirely from Academy City’s seventeenth school district, heading for whatever hills were nearest to its location, like even they, part of the planet’s very elemental makeup believed or realized they had no place in a certain switchyard.

  
  


With the womb of void having been dismissed, there laid one last matter which he would have to attend to, one last errand to run.

  
  


Even as he paid this fact mind, the fourth-ranked level five only knew vaguely of it; he was being observed from afar.

  
  


Beyond his sight, incapable of being detected through his other four senses, tiny UNDER_LINE units observed, and reported their findings directly to Academy City’s General Superintendent, who observed the proceedings with, etched upon his face, an apathetic expression.

  
  


Aleister Crowley presumed to the best of his ability (and his ability was far from something to be scoffed at) that the level five knew, to some extent, that what he’d done was a means of making amends. The Last Order still lived. Hamasaki Tsubasa had betrayed his handlers, and had betrayed Academy City. Therefore, Hamasaki Tsubasa had betrayed Aleister Crowley.

  
  


But if SYSTEM could be achieved, if, through the use of the mind, man could reach out and touch the power beyond his scope, beyond his vision and beyond his feeble consciousness’ limited capabilities, if man could grab hold of the very power of God, then the fourth-ranked level five, Voidwalker, might just prove himself to serve as a worthy source of amusement.

  
  


And, so, as Hamasaki Tsubasa viewed what, to the uninitiated, could’ve been easily mistaken for many copies of his own physical form’s shadow, even given the lack of natural sunlight which had been seamlessly replaced instead with the moon’s lunar grace, he stepped forward.

  
  


Stones of small sizes, not quite small enough to be properly deemed pebbles cracked and crunched beneath the soles of his shoes, shifting from one side and then to the other, as they were forced to part by the Draconian laws of physics and of gravity, bending knee to the all-powerful cosmic dictatorship.

  
  


Within his higher mind, bouncing about its confines like a mental patient gone stir crazy and bound to a straitjacket from which they could never even hope to flee from, a thought, taking the form of a strict, and sternly-thought command passed.

  
  


“ _Use your every resource and do whatever you possibly can to utterly destroy me.”_

  
  


Shifting, in their creator’s direction, the voidclones, with their faceless heads turned to face Hamasaki Tsubasa, all at once, as if they shared an interconnected hive mind, permitting them to think as one, individual super-organism.

  
  


In response, as he’d intended, as he’d done so many times before the fourth strongest esper in Academy City turned on his creations, and, headlong into the fray he rushed them.

  
  


Retaliating, they manifested weapons of war to utilize against the individual they’d been commanded to assault; and follow that command they would, to a T. Curved, shifting blades of void, additional limbs, lashing and whipping at the oxygenated air around them, great and terrible, elongated masses of void energies upon which jaws, not unlike those a hunter’s trap might’ve possessed were mounted, snapping at nothing, as if they, too were out to destroy the fourth-ranked level five esper, as their creators were.

  
  


Seventy-five level four espers, synthetic beings forced into the world, forged with energies beyond the Earth’s elements as opposed to flesh, lifeblood and bone prepared for conflict.

  
  


Soon, however, despite their preparations, the first of the seventy-five voidclones fell.

  
  


A touch of the level five Voidwalker’s foot upon the ground, forced and focused, pent-up within his leg an overwhelming, perpetually-compounded mass of void energies sent forth a great blast wave, completely devoid of coloration, black as the darkest of night skies.

  
  


Faced with a potentially lethal onslaught, faced with self-made foes almost too numerous to count, certainly too numerous to count in a situation where each of said self-made foes sought to destroy their creator, as per his command, Voidwalker’s Personal Reality grew, evolved in a similar manner through which a level one esper might’ve achieved level two, through instinctual adaptation procedures as native to the brain as the need to drink, sleep, and consume nutritional foods.

  
  


The blast wave had lost coloration, as the void itself had been reached out to, grasped, produced by a Personal Reality which pulled the stuff that shouldn’t have been from the very shadowy corners of the multiverse, where the warmth of life dared not take root.

  
  


Another voidclone fell, torn in half by a monolithic, blackened and jagged blade of void, jutting from the fourth-ranked level five’s back.

  
  


Another, and another, the corpses began to pile, falling atop one another without so much as a vocalized grunt of discomfort.

  
  


For Hamasaki Tsubasa, it was living proof that the mass slaughter, the practical genocide of his own creations was, indeed a reliable means of reaching level six, the pinnacle of esper development, the sheer, lone reason why Academy City had been established.

  
  


Half a dozen voidclones struck the ground with a series of thuds, what ‘life’ had been granted to them ripped from them by a blade of void, and by twisted limbs from which grotesque and beastly hands jutted, taking synthetic, thoughtless and unknowing life as a particularly shifty thief might’ve snatched from the purse of a maiden unawares a handful of dollar bills.

  
  


The achieving of level six, the fulfillment of SYSTEM’s requirements would bring an end to it all; the experiments, the usage of mere children as substitutes for laboratory rats, in a City-State that in and of itself, was a monumental maze without a beginning and without an end, the suffering endured by individuals such as the Accelerator, the Railgun, and the Mental Out, the newly-crowned (if Mugino Shizuri’s ‘untimely’ demise was already accounted for by Academy City) fifth-ranked level five, a secretive soul, one who bore much pain.

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa couldn’t undo their suffering, and he was more than lucid enough to realize there was little he could possibly do to undo their pain, but, he, the fourth strongest, could certainly prevent more needless suffering from being inflicted upon others.

  
  


All that he would have to do was survive the shift from level five to level six.

  
  


It was as he’d paid these considerations mind that one of his creations had taken advantage of the situation presented before it. Having crept up behind its creator, a level four voidclone called forth from the darkened corners of its own power, well over half a dozen limbs of void, each ending in a grotesque, if human-like hand attached to a broken-looking wrist; with four fingers and a thumb, all twenty four of the hands grasped onto the form of the Original Voidwalker.

  
  


Void passed through void.

  
  


Another voidclone swiftly approached from the front, and another from the side. Hamasaki Tsubasa was outright impressed; the thoughtless, mindless creations, the wind-up dolls he’d forged with his ability were practising flawless cooperation, working as a single unit as opposed to throwing themselves into death’s embrace one by one.

  
  


Approaching from the front, the assailant voidclone’s hand, curled into a fist met the centre of the fourth-ranked level five’s torso, while, from the side, the flanking voidclone had spawned several blades of colourless, toneless void, each briefly whipping at the oxygenated air around them before they were thrown outwards, towards the Original Voidwalker.

  
  


Without paying a second thought to the potential consequences, Hamasaki Tsubasa put the calculations to work, preparing to as best he could purposefully engage in behaviour which some would’ve deemed to have been ‘reckless’, and others yet would’ve deemed to have been ‘suicidal’.

  
  


A gargantuan mass of blackness exploded outwards from within the fourth-ranked level five esper, one which utterly consumed each and every single voidclone which hadn’t the ‘smarts’ to, at the very least, attempt an escape from the blast wave.

  
  


Reaching upwards and toward the sky, bolts of blackened, colourless lighting-like anomalies emerged from the toneless explosion, leaving behind as they swiftly dissipated blackened, shredded remnants of themselves, which soon fell toward the earth below like so many scraps of an aircraft shot down from on high.

  
  


Blown away as if they’d been buffeted by gale force winds, sections of railway tracks, masses of small stones lifted from the ground, and many multicoloured shipping containers were tossed in every and all directions.

  
  


Twenty-four voidclones, those which had fled from the blast wave, halting their collective progression once the wave’s limited area of effect had been reached, remained standing, as their fallen ‘siblings’ once had.

  
  


Speaking realistically, in order for the preceding events to make even a lick of sense, especially from a mechanical standpoint, explanations are in order.

  
  


Most, if not all of the Voidwalker’s previously-displayed techniques had utilized concentrated and heavily- compounded bursts of void energies, directed from the Personal Reality in which they’d originated and into a particular section, or multiple sections of his physical form, used as something akin to a base and a stabilizer.

  
  


This, in theory, could be compared to the directing of an entire bowl of liquid into another bowl, which, especially if caution wasn’t paid mind, would likely end up causing a great and spectacular mess, versus pouring, from one bowl into another the same liquid, but instead of recklessly pouring directly from bowl to bowl, relying on the aid of a funnel to carefully distribute the liquid, controlling and limiting the amount that would traverse from proverbial point A to figurative point B.

  
  


With the willing, with the aid of mathematical formulas, with the proper numerical units subtracted, multiplied, and divided in just the right way, essentially, a ‘broken’ and incomplete mathematical formula had been constructed within the mind of the fourth strongest esper, one which put in place no directional calculations to speak of.

  
  


He had unleashed from within him an unrestrained, outright, gargantuan and hyper destructive burst of void energies.

  
  


This, of course, wasn’t as simple as it might’ve sounded even for the fourth strongest esper. Only if he’d choose to hypothetically lie to the faces of whoever might’ve hypothetically asked could Hamasaki Tsubasa hypothetically say that he’d managed the feat without issue.

  
  


As the surviving voidclones, following what could be compared to a machine’s programming resumed once more their quest to destroy their creator, as per said creator’s explicit instructions, Tsubasa panted, his breathing heavy, lungs heaving as his entire form shuddered.

  
  


Having fallen to a single knee, as if he was about to ask the empty space containing only air before him for its figurative, nonexistent hand in marriage, his temples throbbed, either side of his head wracked by continuous, repeated and painful ‘waves’ of anomalous activity. Pulsating, rapidly moving pain in his forehead caused the Voidwalker to feel as if a particularly rusty nail, with a particularly sharpened, pointed and jagged tip was being hammered directly through the front of his skull.

  
  


As powerful as he was, as much strength as he’d mustered through the continuous development of his esper ability, he was not invincible. He was not infallible and he was far from being the strongest one. Voidwalker was no Accelerator, and he never _could_ be. _Never_.

  
  


Crack.

  
  


Suddenly, as if the very world around him had shifted on its axis, his vision spun, all things in his gaze becoming blurred, multicoloured masses, shapeless and amorphous.

  
  


Delivering a fist directly to its creator's throat with enough force to temporarily halt the fourth-ranked level five's inhalation of oxygen, a summoned voidclone had opened a window of opportunity for another to take up the mantle of aggressor.

  
  


Sweeping them up, as if they were little more than so much garbage that’d fallen from a dustbin in which they’d been contained, Hamasaki Tsubasa knocked the voidclones away, beating them back with the aid of a shaking, shifting limb of void.

  
  


Unleashing another uncontrolled and unrestrained burst of darkened, ‘refined’ and ‘pure’ void, ripped from expanses that should not have been, he gagged, vision spinning, stomach churning, practically turning itself inside out within the fourth-ranked level five’s body.

  
  


Hacking, and spitting forth a glob of the substance perpetually produced by his mouth’s salivary glands onto the displaced gravel beneath him, Hamasaki Tsubasa rose, gripping his throat with his left hand. Repeatedly and continuously, a sharp, stinging sensation rang throughout his laryngeal prominence.

  
  


One and a half voidclones remained to stand against their creator; the latter, as opposed to walking, was forced to crawl towards its target, given that the lower half of its body had been torn clean off, as well as a section of its leftmost forearm.

  
  


The former possessed no such limitations. Somehow, it’d managed to survive the uncontrolled burst of darkened void energy.

  
  


A consideration, one particularly relevant to the scenario in which he’d found himself passed through Tsubasa’s mind.

  
  


If the truth of the matter involved a reality in which individuals of importance watched the proceedings through undisclosed means – and, surely enough, even if he had no means of knowing it, he’d found himself to be right on the proverbial money, given that Academy City’s General Superintendent himself had been, and was indeed observing the proceedings – they likely weren’t watching in the hopes of seeing a boy of high school age being pummelled by his own creations.

  
  


Even if the old dog had learned, and successfully executed a new trick, that alone wouldn’t be enough. Crushing some poor sod’s car between two artificial, summoned limbs, while impressive by his own standards, might not have been quite as grand in the eyes of Academy City’s many important human cogs.

  
  


If he, Hamasaki Tsubasa, was going to prove that he could achieve the fabled level six and subsequently meet the requirements that would achieve SYSTEM, he would have to show any potential onlookers that he was more than a mere upstart level five esper with a chip on his shoulder.

  
  


No, he would inevitably have to show Academy City’s human cogs just what it was that he could do. No holding back, no strings attached, no breaking.

  
  


The uncontrolled explosions, the unrestrained unleashing of void energies from within him, the volatile summoning by his Personal Reality only stopped because his mind could only manage so much.

  
  


But, there was a fact of the matter at hand which remained.

  
  


For a moment, even as he beat back and merely engaged in actively stalling his own creations who were out for his death, as per their creator’s demands, he recalled the words spoken not only to him, the at the time level two void user, but the entirety of the middle school class by the aforementioned class’s teacher, the troubled man who’d so long ago – at the very least, the moment seemed as if it’d occurred long ago to Tsubasa in retrospect –identified himself as “Kihara-sensei”.

  
  


“ _In the spirit of physical esper ability development, a small, off-the-books lesson, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen. There are two opposite ‘brands’ of exhaustion, sort of sharing the difference between two different brands of soda. There is of course physical exhaustion, the end result of overworking your body, and not giving it the rest and nutrition that it needs, but there’s another sort of exhaustion: mental exhaustion._

  
  


“ _This exhaustion isn’t real. It’s the result of your mind trying to play tricks on you, so that it can have its way. Unless you’re already someone who is very devoted, your mind is going to, at some point, want its body to spend some time lazing around, even when it shouldn’t be lazing around. You needn’t listen to that sort of exhaustion. Ignore it and tell it as politely as you possibly can, of course, to “go away.”_

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa gritted his teeth, and silently performed within his higher mind the calculations, and wordlessly assembled the required formulas that very well could’ve ended his life, or, perhaps, simply result in his instantaneous, spontaneous combustion.

  
  


Once more, as if consisting of so many soldiers who were ordered, brutally and harshly commanded by an overbearing, ruthless sergeant to approach the figurative breach, a gargantuan, echoing torrent of unleashed, uncontrolled and unrestrained void energies emerged, seemingly from within the very physical form of the fourth-ranked level five esper, buffeting, shaking, and, on occasion, depending on the nature of the physical object rattled, shattered all things within a five, ten, and then fifteen-meter radius.

  
  


Great mechanical cranes, titans forged of metal, formerly looming over Academy City’s seventeenth school district, once standing tall fell as they crumbled beneath their own weight and height distributions, once their advantage turned against them; shaken utterly, and, in some cases outright bent, not unlike the limbs of a capture insect trapped beneath the merciless, unknowing paws of a particularly playful feline.

  
  


School district seventeen’s roadways were torn asunder, sections of asphalt ripped from the very earth upon which they’d been constructed, tossed about like leaves thrown by the gusting rage of a cold, or warm front’s winds.

  
  


Some structures collapsed as they were buffeted by the echoing waves of anomalous, non-elemental void, though others survived the onslaught, ‘emerging’ with only minor scrapes, empty window frames where panes of glass had, only seconds before, been set in place.

  
  


Thrown around like so many playthings, school district seventeen’s cargo boxes formed multicoloured collages in the sky, as they flew across, upward, downward, and diagonally, battered at random by the fourth strongest esper’s outburst.

  
  


What remained of school district seventeen’s switchyard had come to rest in several monumental piles, amalgamations of twisted, jagged metallic beams, strips of asphalt, and sprinklings of uprooted gravel landscape, each, seemingly, taller than that which had come to be formed before the next. The oddly, paradoxically and ironic neatness of things suggested order had swept in of its own accord to combat the forces of chaos, even when said forces possessed the advantage of existing in the perfect ‘home court’ that was Academy City.

  
  


An exhausted Hamasaki Tsubasa nearly choked on his own vomit, as he lurched forward; greenish-yellow streams of the chunky bile emerged from between his lips, and soon found itself being regurgitated onto what remained of the switchyard’s man-made ground, seeping in between loosened sections of gravel.

  
  


Still, even as the fourth strongest esper ejected his own lunch, afternoon snacks and dessert from within his stomach, etching itself upon his facial features was a grin.

  
  


Wracked by a volatile reaction to overuse of his Personal Reality or not, he, Tsubasa, he wasn’t dead. He hadn’t suddenly exploded with the force of a dying White Dwarf. He wasn’t melting down, as the level five Meltdowner user Mugino Shizuri had, some mere hours prior to the moment in which Tsubasa had found himself.

  
  


Needless to say, the remaining voidclones, though remaining in existence on a physical level, had been shredded, the smaller scraps of their form buffeted like chaff before the wind’s breath.

  
  


For a brief, few moments, Voidwalker had achieved ‘level 5.3’. Nearly five and a half. His body, his mind, _he_ remained stable.

  
  


Yet, he’d heard _them._ The whispers on the wind. The voices that emanated from everywhere and nowhere. So many countless voices, speaking in countless tongues. When she had been through her forced Level Six Shift attempt, had Misaka Mikoto heard _them_ , too? Hamasaki Tsubasa wondered.

  
  


“ _Death is close.”_

  
  


“ _You are already dead.”_

  
  


“ _Your courage will fail.”_

  
  


“ _Your friends will abandon you.”_

  
  


“ _You will betray your friends.”_

  
  


“ _You will die.”_

  
  


“ _You are weak.”_

  
  


“ _Your heart will stop.”_

  
  


‘Shadow Metal’, as Saten Ruiko would have called it, one of her precious little Urban Legends. The Void. That which should not have been. That which was better off left alone.

  
  


Buzz, buzz, buzz went the smartphone contained in the rightmost pocket of his pants. More surprised that the device had managed to survive, somehow, when most of his surroundings, and most of Academy City’s seventeenth school district had come to look far worse for wear, the fourth-ranked level five chose to ignore the call, even as he considered the likelihood of the caller being Saten Ruiko.

  
  


Without a singular instance of doubt in his mind, he was in no position to have a casual chat with anyone.

  
  


Then again, who could’ve said that Saten Ruiko was calling simply to have some sort of casual chat about her favourite Urban Legends, or some other adorable little Saten Ruiko thing she was always obsessing over? The level zero middle schooler girl could’ve found herself in legitimate trouble, proper danger.

  
  


What if, on some level, Gladio sought to further development of their level five’s ability by pushing the aforementioned subject’s mind in a forced state of duress, in which a precious life was on the line? Regardless of who found themselves in charge of the black operation, it was still sanctioned by Academy City, still under their heel of ever-dominating, ever-present control.

  
  


Observing the assigned phone number of the device, delivering the incoming call, he couldn’t recognize the number’s patterns – Saten Ruiko’s phone number had something of a pattern to it, based on the particular numerical characters – and, in fact, the number had no patterns at all, merely a construct made up of so many nonsensical number combinations. Even where the name of the incoming caller based on their cellular phone’s internal information should’ve been displayed, there was no name, consisting of alphabetical characters, only a messy amalgamation of numbers.

  
  


Panting, spitting the few remaining chunks of semi-digested foodstuff from his mouth, Tsubasa produced his phone, even as he slumped forward, even as he was barely able to keep himself on one knee.

  
  


Loosely pushing the device against the side of his face, he muttered into the device’s internal microphone a loose, nearly guttural-toned greeting.

  
  


“H-hell…o?”

  
  


“Hamasaki-kun, you make me _so_ very proud of today’s youth. Rowdy and rebellious, yet, you’ve come to stand out from the crowds your peers make.”

  
  


“K-Kihara!”

  
  


Hamasaki Tsubasa could only hope that the senile, aging man with the strange birth defect splattered across the side of his forehead, resembling some abstract form ripped straight from ink blot painting of a Rorschach test’s surface had actually managed to record his combat data.

  
  


Through what means he’d previously done so from afar were unknown to the fourth strongest esper, but, it was obvious enough that the old man had more than one.

  
  


The reality, of course, which Hamasaki Tsubasa couldn’t have known, was lurking high above – a considerable distance from the maximum possible range of the fourth-ranked level five’s ability, at least that which he possessed as a level five esper – were numerous drones. Fluttering in place and small enough to snugly fit into the palm of a fully grown human being’s hand, they recorded the proceedings, and loyally delivered relevant data, in the form of recorded video footage, directly to those who operated them from afar.

  
  


As if he’d been reading Tsubasa’s very thoughts, the caller spoke their piece.

  
  


“I’ll have you know, your recorded combat data is currently being forwarded to my analysis lab… a wondrous show you put on, indeed. Did you, by some chance, guess that you were being observed? Not by us, of course. We would _never_ do such a thing, Hamasaki-kun.”

  
  


“R-right.”

  
  


He was suddenly less than thrilled about speaking to the man who, formerly, had attempted to forcibly shift Misaka Mikoto from level five to level six, a bird-brained scheme by all accounts, where the fourth-ranked level five esper was concerned.

  
  


“I do hope our salvage team can manage to scrape up your seventy-five cortexes,” the elderly man remarked, “dismantling more clones than Omnitron has calculated to be required wouldn’t be wise, Hamasaki-kun. Do try to remember that we’ve algorithms to follow.”

  
  


“Don’t concern yourself with the f-finer details,” Tsubasa practically spat; though he hadn’t intended for it to be, multiple globules of saliva fled from within his mouth, as he’d offered his pseudo-sarcastic retort, “Between you and myself, I want this more than you, K-Kihara.”

  
  


“Perhaps, you’re not entirely incorrect,” was the elderly man’s answer, in response, his chosen means of retorting, even to him, to what seemed like an accusation.

  
  


With a grunt, Hamasaki Tsubasa picked himself up, and dusted the legs of his pants off, as best he could, with his available hand.

  
  


“Kihara, I need a salvage team at Battlefield A Zero Seven B. Bag up the scraps, then report back with details, and, especially any findings and developments regarding the Void Body Crystal.”

  
  


“Of course, Hamasaki-kun; you need only ask.”

  
  


Terminating the call, and therefore abandoning the elderly Kihara to whatever fate the man with the glaring, all too visible birth defect was bound to, the fourth-ranked level five, as best he could, began his search for a new vehicle, a means of returning to his dorm where sleep could be found, and weakness could be subverted.

  
  


Tsubasa was quickly coming to regret the act of destroying his ill-gotten vehicle.

  
  


February 12th, 2004. 10:03 PM.

  
  


“Saten-san, eat up! You haven’t even had any sort of proper third meal, have you?”

  
  


“Uiharu, I’m not hungry! The orderlies even offered! You know me, Uiharu; I _never_ turn down a good meal, unless I’m really not hungry! Please stop trying to poke my eyes out with that spoon! Stop or I’ll get up and flip your skirt!”  
  
  


Leaning over Saten Ruiko’s bedside, Uiharu Kazari held in her left hand a Styrofoam bowl containing a particularly hardy soup; tomato, in fact, with extra herbs and spices added, complete with far too much particles of shredded pepper atop the thick, creamy broth. In her right hand, Kazari gripped a flimsy, plastic spoon, which she repeatedly attempted to shove into her friend’s mouth.

  
  


As the Thermal Hand user pestered the level zero middle schooler girl, Shirai Kuroko, with the assurance that her close friend wasn’t grievously harmed, and on the road to a swift, sure recovery had turned her attention to the ‘mummified’ individual.

  
  


Having pulled up a simple, plastic chair located in the hospital room, taken from a row of four situated close to the room’s door, she, complete with her green-toned Judgment band wrapped around her arm leaned forward.

  
  


With their assurance that they could at least speak to her without potentially causing themselves any sort of further harm, Shirai Kuroko pushed onward.

  
  


“You don’t have to concern yourself with anonymity. As a Judgment Officer, I literally _cannot_ use anything you tell me as a witness against you in any way, shape or form. I’m legally bound not to register anything you tell me in Judgment's database without your explicit permission.”

  
  


Though almost entirely mummified, the individual in question had strategically-carved sections of their bandages removed; a small slit where the individuals lips were located, upon their face, and two, nostril-sized holes, aligned with the individual’s nose.

  
  


“You won’t believe me even if I tell you, miss.”

  
  


“Is that what you think? Try me.”

  
  


“I… ah! Forget it! I tried to use magic, okay?! I tried to use MAGIC! There are pamphlets scattered all over the City, and they tell you how you can use magic!”

  
  


“As I’ve learned… go on.”

  
  


“I must’ve messed something up, somehow, because when I tried to use it, with the “Magic Circle”… thing… I just… I started rotting! I was bleeding everywhere, nose, eyes, e-ears… and mouth!”

Having garnered the attention of both Uiharu Kazari and Saten Ruiko, who’d come to bundle herself within her bed’s sheets, and, further, beneath its comforter, Shirai Kuroko did her best to steer the conversation away from that particular topic, dismissing the ‘mummified’ individual with a simple declaration of “thank you, for your assistance.”

  
  


Turning back, facing Kazari and Ruiko, Kuroko felt the leftmost pocket of her Tokiwadai Middle School winter uniform’s skirt; the tips of her fingers pressed against the crinkled, crunched and sullied pamphlet held within the pocket.

  
  


“This is a bigger deal than either of us thought, Uiharu. I hope Konori-senpai finds a lead faster than we can.”

  
  


For a moment, as her friend turned her gaze in her direction, Saten Ruiko presumed she was about to be blamed, or otherwise accused.

  
  


“Saten-san, if you knew anything more about this “magic” business, you’d tell us, right? Is that what ended up getting you hurt? You never did tell Shirai-san or I how you ended up in here, you know. We won’t be mad, I promise!”

  
  


Folding her arms across her chest, the level four teleporter took to Ruiko’s bedside; tilting her head, off towards her right shoulder, she bit into her lower lip, as she seemingly began to stare her hospitalized friend down.

  
  


Beneath Kuroko’s gaze, Ruiko nearly found herself shrinking, like an especially meek child might’ve shrunk in the face of a particularly ruthless parent whose discipline was delivered in harsh rhetoric.

  
  


Could she lie to their faces? Could she really, _really_ tell them a lie, even if it’s what they wanted to hear? Would Shirai Kuroko and Uiharu Kazari be better off _not_ knowing the truth?

  
  


Would they keep anything of the sort from her, if they’d found themselves in her situation? Were they already keeping matters hidden from their friend, perhaps for her own good? Matters she was better off not knowing about?

  
  


It still hadn’t quite settled within her higher mind, but, Saten Ruiko wasn’t about to simply accept, without so much as an issue, or without so much as a thought paid to ethical concern the existence of twenty thousand clones of her close friend, the Railgun, and the reality that over twelve thousand of those same clones had been mowed down, like so many blades of grass, in City-sanctioned experiments.

  
  


Ruiko possessed no reason to disbelieve the words which Hamasaki Tsubasa had imparted upon her; she had _seen_ the clones for herself. One had even spoken to her, in full, complete sentence, using proper speech, as opposed to referring to herself in the third person as the two others had.

  
  


“Earth to Space Cadet Saten,” Kuroko remarked.

  
  


Ruiko started, producing a soft, sudden and unconscious gasp, as she whipped her head from one side, and then to the other.

  
  


So deep in her own contemplation had she been that she’d entirely forgotten for the briefest of moments that she’d had any sort of company at all paying her time for visitation.

  
  


As much as she wanted to be as truthful as possible with her closest friends, the people who’d become close to her like her own family during her time in Academy City, Saten Ruiko paid reality the time of day; blabbering aloud, regarding the existence of thousands of the Railgun’s clones being real _probably_ wasn’t the best decision she could make.

  
  


“Sorry, guys,” Ruiko bluffed, raising her hands before her face, holding them some few inches away and shaking them from side to side, “I… got distracted! Sorry! Painkillers are kind of making me… loooooopy! Loopy, loopy, loopy! I’m NOT high, though! I don’t get high! Drugs are for bad dudes, and delinquents!”

  
  


Shirai Kuroko leaned forward, arms remaining folded across her chest; closing the distance between herself and her close friend, Saten Ruiko, the level four teleporter girl produced a sigh while she gave her head a brief shake, seemingly of disapproval.

  
  


“It’s fine, Saten-san. Now that I have your attention, I’ll ask you again: magic. Do you know anything about this “magic”? The pamphlets scattered around Academy City are officially under Judgment investigation. I need to know anything you can tell me about them. You could very well end up having the lead that we need, a break in the case, anything.”

  
  


Saten Ruiko swallowed, hard.

  
  


“Er, well...”


	9. Level Six Shift - III

February 12th, 2004. 2:18 AM.

" _Why has nothing happened...?"_

Those _had_ been the calculations had they not? The Omnitron supercomputer, the replacement for the obliterated TREE_DIAGRAM had dictated the immutable scientific truth. Six hundred and seventy-five level four clones of Voidwalker – regardless of their origin – could be destroyed utterly in order for the original, Hamasaki Tsubasa, to achieve **level six**.

To transcend the very concept of **level five**.

To bring about that which Academy City's highest authorities within Gladio had referred to as 'SYSTEM'. 'SYSTEM' was that accursed, foul City's purpose. Once 'SYSTEM' was achieved, a level six created to be displayed to the world as the pinnacle of human evolution, there would be no further need for Academy City.

There would be no further need for the 'Dark Side'. There would be no further need for the experiments, the scientists, the laboratories, the guinea pigs. Academy City was supposed to _end_ , now.

This was Hamasaki Tsubasa's goal. This was his purpose. This was that which defined him, that which allowed him to call himself a human being.

But why, WHY, hadn't anything happened?

Why was he such a failure?

Why did everything he ever tried to accomplish blow up in his face spectacularly?

Then again, that wasn't true, was it? Saten Ruiko, that precious, sweet level zero girl who always held her head high in the face of adversity hadn't turned him away. She'd accepted his promise, and made her own.

As always, Voidwalker couldn't stop admiring that level zero girl. As always, that level zero girl acted as his anchor.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, fourth-ranked level five esper, 'the Voidwalker' fell upon his knees and looked to the sky, as if it somehow held the answers he sought. Tsubasa received none. The sky, as always, was silent. Cloud coverage had rolled in, obscuring the moon and blanketing the experimental supercity in the Far East.

Then, it came. A maddening whisper on the wind. A hushed, perverted collection of twisted vocalizations. Even the deranged shrieking was impossibly hushed, denying the very means through which the human mind recognized sound.

" _Ç̶̛̗̱͔̺̜̣̭̓̋͊̈̂̊͛̉́͛̇̕̕͜o̵̧̡͕͇͙͚͚͖̱̹͔̞̳̬̥͑͆̇̈͊̑̐̿̕͠m̸̧̪̼̠̟̪͔̪͓͎͙̲̋̌͛͂̀e̶͉̤̪̻̭̽ ̶̧̅̍̊̓͑ţ̵̙̅̐̿̄̈̊̾ờ̴̡̨͉̪̮̰͖̳̻̰͎̩͍͂̓̍͛̎̌͠͝͠ ̸̡̛̪̦̥̖̗͕̺̰̫̟̱̗̲͛̇͗͛̓̎͜m̸̝̠͚̦̙̪̼͑̒͌̀͐͛̈́̅͗͆́͜͜e̵̜̋͜.̸̨̢̯̻͕̯̮͔̂̃̐͋́̿̽̊.̷̧̙̞͉̪͓̣͎̙̈́͛̒͑̂͗͒͗̾̽̈́̑̓͘ͅ.̵̧̋_ "

The earth was beginning to rot beneath him. The switchyard was _rotting_. A crane collapsed in upon itself, withering like a dying flower. Long, winding sections of railway track warped and bent and churned as if in pain. Inanimate objects, including the large, stacked towers of multicoloured shipping containers unintentionally placed about within the switchyard so that they formed long, confounding maze-like paths, they screamed. They grew mouths, perfectly human mouths, and screamed. From their palates to the farthest reaches of their throats, these mouths were infested with protruding, bent, chipped teeth.

So many teeth.

Hamasaki Tsubasa turned away from it all, focusing on the stony gravel beneath his knees.

Blinking eyes stared back. Impossibly innumerable, these eyes' irises were bright golden in colouration with long, thin slits for pupils, not unlike those of a cat. Chunky, bubbling pus leaked from between the innumerable eyes' lids, which repeatedly opened and closed.

Hamasaki Tsubasa was ensnared.

They'd coiled themselves around his arms, his legs, his neck. Elongated, barbed tendrils. They stunk of scents Tsubasa couldn't possibly understand; attempting to do so was akin to _smelling_ colour, or _feeling_ a scent.

Voidwalker was no longer in Academy City.

No longer on Earth.

No longer in the multiverse he knew.

There were no skies above; there was only darkness, accented by the presence of crackling, surging masses of dark blue and purple. Akin to ribbons these queer shapes seemed to float in the vast **nothingness**. Occasionally they would pulsate, but they'd perform no other movements of any sort.

 **Nothingness?** No. This was **not** nothingness. There was plenty to be seen; but Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't particularly enjoy seeing it.

Odd structures that made no sense based on what humans as a species knew about physics, distance and cosmic spatial laws abounded. Massive, pulsating orbs connected to one another by thick, fleshy beams that appeared ready to collapse upon themselves at any moment.

These structures expanded outwards in all directions, seemingly without end. Voidwalker certainly couldn't spot an end to them. There were no height limits. These structures could ascend high, and higher, far into the vast, unquantifiable expanses above.

A colossal, surging bolt of some unknowable energies, resembling some sort of pitch-dark lightning struck the colossal, shifting, pulsing orb which Tsubasa stood upon from on high. Then another, and another. He reeled, barely avoiding the wrath sent down upon him. The orb upon which Voidwalker stood seemed pained by the bolt.

 _This_ was the Void. _This_ was what Gladio-Oculus Operative Dave Horton had apparently either sought to, or had been commanded to send Academy City's military forces through.

This warped, twisted outerverse, that which was beyond reality. That which lurked between the lines, in the deepest, darkest cracks where the cosmos themselves sought not to consider. That which Voidwalker drew his power from. That which Voidwalker wielded as his weapon and shield alike.

Tsubasa had been delivered to the Void. Tsubasa was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Despite drawing his vast power from this place which was not a place, despite having nearly mastered its use through many years of constant rigorous mental and physical conditioning which had deprived the high school boy of his better years, despite feeling the familiarity of this place within him, Tsubasa began to shake. Violently as if compelled by evil spirits he convulsed. His fingers vibrated. His palms, suddenly plastered in a thick layer of sweat, felt cold, distant. As if his body was not his own.

" _C̴̤̥͇̼̤̠̙͉̒̈̿͛̃͋̓͗͊̊̐͂̕͝Ọ̷̙͚̽̀̅͐M̵̢̹̱̹̺̲̩̭̂̅̈́̏ͅE̴̠̹̩̤͕͍̿̈̊̓ ̶̨̛̝̪͎̩̲̺͉̼̠͂̌̀̍͆̀͋̊̆͝Ț̸̺̥̝̬̈́̚O̵̧̧̖͎̦̼̫̻̦̟̠̞͕̒̋̍͗̈̓́̎͜ͅ ̸̡̢̭͖̗͕͍̖͕̭̹̘̉͘͠M̴̨̧̹̜̖̹͕͈̞͚̗͇̐͆̈́̋̓͝͠Ę̸̮̥̟͓̰̳̹͖̪̥̦̀̐̄̔̓̇̄͌̓̉̈͑͜͝͝.̷̮͈͋͌͊̽͛̿̂̓͑̏̈̅̓͆̕_ "

His own thoughts screamed at him. The inner voice was not Tsubasa's own. It was a voice of countless voices. A foul symphony of anguished cries, mournful wails, hushed whimpers and confident, boisterous shouting. Some spoke in languages beyond Tsubasa's understanding, others in languages which he recognized as human but knew nothing of; Mandarin, several African dialects, Russian. All were 'layered' upon each other.

The Void shifted, bringing him elsewhere. Though Voidwalker fought to brace himself against this, he was not strong enough.

Hamasaki Tsubasa failed.

No amount of power as an esper could possibly put Hamasaki Tsubasa on equal footing with the Void, that which he drew his power from. There would be no epic come-from-behind victories. There would be no winning. There would be no **end** to this.

Gripping his stomach, wrapping his arms around himself as his lower body thrummed with dull, repeated stabbing pains that mixed with his stomach's nervous churning, forming a particularly volatile concoction that brought bile to his lips, Voidwalker forced his eyes open once more; they'd forcibly closed themselves shut as the 'world' around him rotted.

It had reformed.

" **HELP ME**! **HELP ME**! **PLEASE**!"

" _Ignore it."_

The shrieking, panicked voice – high-pitched, identifiable as having originated from a female human, presumably – rang out and reverberated throughout Hamasaki Tsubasa. Travelling in through his ears' tympanic membranes, the screams for aid rattled his bones.

The voice echoed. It echoed and echoed as if it had spoken words within a vast chamber.

" _Don't pay attention."_

Tsubasa didn't recognize this place. The walls of ornate brickwork and tiled, cobblestone flooring, accented by the presence of majestic, flowing carpets. The arched, stained-glass windows.

Furniture present here suggested that this was room – perhaps separated from others, given that two enormous, stone-wrought doors, closed shut, were adjacent to one another – was one which belonged to nobility. Royalty, perhaps?

Yes. This was a castle. It could only be described as a castle. The vastness, the arched ceilings whose surfaces were covered in intricate artistic masterpieces depicting scenes of medieval landscapes. This _had_ to be a castle. But which castle? Where? The thoughts practically flashed by, one after another, within Hamasaki Tsubasa's reeling mind.

" **PLEASE**!"

" **STOP**! **_PLEASE_ STOP**!"

" **HELP ME**! **HELP ME**! **PLEASE**!"

" _Ignore. It... Just... Ignore it."_

Practically pushing through the stone-wrought doorway leading away from the sprawling, elegantly-carved table, certainly a piece of furniture which could have accommodated a feast of epic proportions, Voidwalker tumbled into the room waiting just beyond the previous' confines.

It resembled a dance hall; but one which had been brought low, decimated. Entire chunks of the tiled flooring had given way, leading down, deep into the blackened depths of which Tsubasa could see no end. This darkness was not merely an absence of light; it was _liquid_. Liquid which rippled and bubbled.

Nearby the stage with its torn, mouldering curtains, a place where plays and other representations of artistic theatre might have been held if this castle was a real place on Earth, - perhaps it was, Voidwalker couldn't have known for certain one way or another given his shattered psyche – there were protrusions. Growing from the brickwork walls.

Eyes. Golden-coloured eyes with slits for pupils, like those of a skulking cat. The very walls stared back at Hamasaki Tsubasa. Before long, there was very little brickwork left at all to be seen, for it had been _consumed_. Countless, blinking eyes, leaking that thick, bubbling, putrid puss. Brickwork had turned to mottled flesh where eyes had not grown.

"D̷̢̡͙̙̱̱̼́̀̔̈́͌́̆͊̃͘̕ͅo̶̧̖̙̦̩͇̙͗͂̒̇͋̈́̇̓̔̀̓͠͠ ̶̞͍͖̭͓̼̰͌͊̂͗̐͠y̶̡̧̠̫̯͕̼͓͙̤̖̓̓̍͊͒̇̇͜ͅͅo̵̹̰̩̙̗̟̠͈͔̖͉͎̹̊̄͑͊͋̂͐̍͘ͅu̴͙͋͑́̎͋͌͒̏̈͘͠ ̵̧̢̠̣͔̦͈̻͔͎̩̅̍́͋̓̃͛̒̾͂̐͜͝ͅḩ̸̝̞͙̪̟̫̮̠́̾̅͘à̶̟͔͖̙͕̈́͊̎̿̈́̌̐̚̕v̴̧̨̡̦̱̟̈́̈́͛́̈́̈e̸̟̩̘̙͈͖̜̲̰̹̦̠̣͋͊͛́̿͗̈̌̽͛̎̓̋͜ ̵̢̡̻̳̻̲̮̟̟̦̏̑̎a̶̘͈̜̻̟͉̹̞̗̱̠̞̟̦̿ń̷̟̥̲y̸̧̧̛̳̜̭͔̣̮̪͎͒̾̓̇̊̽̌̐̈̈͝͠͝ ̷̨͖͓̰͔̥͚͉̰̣̘̹̲͕́́͂́̈́̾͂͜i̷͉̺̾d̵̖̫̥̮͙̹̣̺̱̆̓̏̈́̐͊̎̃̓̂̓̂͘͠e̶͎̤̜̮͈̳̫͕͓̹̞̓̓̅̏̏͋̉́͜͜͝a̴̝̳̰̹͂͆̽̓̐͋̃̌̚͘ ̷̧̳̜̯̎͐̂́̓̚ḩ̵̧̥̺̟͕̳̥̜͔̞̪͕̰́̈͑̾̂̌̑̄͜ŏ̷̡̡͍̪͕͚̱̠͙͖̰̦̈́̋͑̏̊̑̂̑̒͝͠ẘ̸̥̞̭̺̘̦̙̎͐̓̅͆̌̔̐͋͘ ̸̢̫̅͊̄͋̐̾l̷̨̛̲̱̼͋́̒͐͛͝ǒ̷̝̠̼̿̚ṇ̷̢̨̢̪̜̰̤̬̹͚̩̤̤̄̾͜è̵̺̝l̴̞̰̻̐̾͋̈́̽̄͑̋̈́̈́͠y̷̢̥̺̿̏̆́̔ ̷͍̃͑̂̇̓̒̑̏͝i̵̧̧̨̹̪̗͇͓̝͔̪̺̋̉̈́͐̾̂̇͘ť̵̙̥̤͉̖͔̲̉͝ ̶͔͇̽̈́̅̉͋̊̅̒́͝ḯ̸̹͈͋̊͌̇ͅs̷͇̮̍̔͋͝,̸̧̺̻͚̗̙̗̭́͆̀͒̇̂͊̈̎̾̋̋͋̕̕͜ ̸̧̢͚̻͕̗̻͙̝͗̑͊͜͠h̶̡͎͓̺͔̺͂͂͛̋̇̃̓̈́̄́̎̐̔̀̾ę̸͈̤͙̯͉̞͇̲͕̭͈͂̓̀̆̆͒̎͑̇̾̚͝ŗ̸̟͓̖̥̠̔̅͌̍̉̐͗̓ę̸̛͕̮̣̹̞͔̝̖̰͕̣̹̐̔̕.̸̝̼̗̟̤͔̮́̈́͆́͑͗̔͛͝͝.̸̧̢̼̙̭̗̩͊͘.̵̻͈̬̼̋̂͗͂̑̅͝?̶̧͚̖̈́̿́̇̆͋̑͒͂̇̄̚͠͝"

The endless voices had _screamed_ and _whispered_ and _chuckled_ and _shouted_ from the exposed depths of this annihilated ballroom.

Hamasaki Tsubasa realized where he was. This was a place of cultural importance in the United Kingdom; hadn't he visited it as a child, with his father? Perhaps a different Hamasaki Tsubasa had. Or perhaps he never had, at all.

Voidwalker's waning sanity offered no answers to these endless, maddening questions.

This was Windsor Castle. Some sixth sense _dictated_ this to Tsubasa.

Or, at least, this was a horrific vision of Windsor Castle. A potential future. Or perhaps a potential past?

Something formed, then.

From nothingness it came, stepping towards Tsubasa as if it had thrown open an invisible door. The hulking thing was disproportionate. Its elongated arms, terminating in whipping, barbed tendrils slapped against the cracked tiled flooring. Its muscled legs, supported by two-toed feet crunched repeatedly beneath the thing's colossal weight. Hunched in posture, it lacked a face. Rather, it possessed a long, thick tendril jutting awkwardly from the space where a face _should_ have been. Its thick, mottled hide was coated in a sheen of putrid liquid, emerging from the painful-looking, infected boils covering its hide.

This Windsor Castle dance hall collapsed further into a crumbling ruin. Not only was the dance hall merely in ruins; it was infected. Eyeballs and mottled flesh that expelled stinking, wretched puss, everywhere. Even the floors were becoming infected.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, with his back curled, holding his knees between his arms sat against the eyeballs, against the mottled flesh, on the warping floor. His power. This was his power. The Void. The incomprehensible Void.

The pose Tsubasa had curled himself into was anything but comfortable.

Voidwalker, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five, one among the strongest espers on Earth had fallen. There was nothing he, or anyone else, could possibly do.

This was hopelessness.

This was crushing, agonizing defeat.

This was the end of all things.

This would be the fate of the Earth, the solar system, the galaxy, the very universe. Perhaps more.

"A mooorrtttaaaalllllll?" The hideous miscreation inquired, stomping towards Hamasaki Tsubasa. It seemed excited by the presence of life, here, in the Void. The place that was mired in existential pain. "A liiiitttllllleeeeee liiiiitttttllllleeeee mooorrtttaaaalllllll!"

The rumbling which followed sent the miscreation packing; Hamasaki Tsubasa did not react. He forced his face into his arms and closed his eyes shut. But he could still see. He could see _everything_ , even as his eyelids were closed; there was no escaping this. Neither sleep nor blindness would save Hamasaki Tsubasa from this.

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaasteeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr coooooooooooommmmmmeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssss! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaasteeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr!"

From the colossal cavity in the Windsor Castle dance hall's flooring, _something_ emerged. It rose like a sea monster, like some sort of aquatic abomination that sought to consume the flesh of men upon their sea-faring vessel.

Its gargantuan, round head was easily the size of hundreds upon hundreds of football fields. Paradoxically, it fit effortlessly, snugly within the ruined, infected Windsor Castle dance hall. Its mottled hide was covered in gaping maws from which jagged teeth protruded. Jutting outwards, emerging from within puss-laden gum-lines, these teeth – these fangs – seemed to only grow wider, longer, with each passing moment.

The greatest maw was below all of them, and it spanned for millions of miles. Paradoxically it fit effortlessly, snugly within the ruined, infected Windsor Castle dance hall. _This_ defied all known laws by which the cosmos were forced to abide. Black, bubbling liquid dripped freely from the colossal, greater maw.

The innumerable, barbed tendrils that emerged from its greater, looming mass could have been as small as chipmunks or as large as entire universes. Hamasaki Tsubasa could not tell. His mind slipped further. It seemed as if he was forgetting how to even breath; Voidwalker gasped aloud as if he had suddenly been deprived of air.

This _thing_ sought out pain and welcomed filth.

This _thing_ was an **Old God** , or at least the emanation of one. Those who were first and fatherless. Those who had ruled the cosmos before Yahweh had ordered all things and cast them into their subterranean prisons from which they would never rise.

Imprisoned or not, the Old Gods evidently had sway within their cradle. _Their_ Void. That which Hamasaki Tsubasa appropriated for his own purposes whenever he so much as inputted even a single calculation into his Personal Reality.

Beneath the gaze of this outerversal abomination, this foul cosmic atrocity that seemed to live and breathe just as much as Hamasaki Tsubasa himself did, he folded further. Voidwalker shrunk beneath this aberration's gaze, like a terrified child reeling from the verbal abuse of an enraged parent.

"Î̶̢̭͖̯̹͓̻̤̱̼̠̑̒̇͜͜ ̷̡̩̜̟͉̟̬̹̞͚̩͚͐͜A̷̢̨̳͈̲̟͍͖̖̲̐͗̇͒̑̀̐̂͌̾̔̂͒̑͘M̵͎̭̊̀͋̏̎͑͛̈́͝ ̴̡͚͙̪̩̱̺͚̱̥͎̱̣͔̈́̆̆̄̔͋̆̑͌͗̕̕͠T̵̝͎͙̮͂̋̿̀̋͂͐̈́̀̀̓̕͝͝H̸̛̟̯̳̣̜̙͔̳͌̓È̵̦͍̪̟͓̖͚̩̭̦͎̟͖̯̺̚͠ ̴͚̻̊͂͌͆̎̀̒̇͝͝L̸̢͎͔̍̊̋̃̈́̈́̕Ú̴̡̝̼̞̠̼̳̹̟̈́̃͋Ç̷̨̢͇̠̘̝̫̻͙̞̗̿̌̾͘͜I̵̠͎͔̤͛͜͝Ḋ̵̛̹̝͎̀̏̊̅́̾̽̋̉̌͝͝ ̵̘͚̣̰̜͐̏̀̑́̈́̿͊D̷̼̙̠̮̣̙̪̄̄͘Ŗ̷͉̮͍͎͓͎̣̯͎̄ͅȨ̵̨͇͔͍̪̘̝̞͐̀̔̉̅̍͑͌͑͜͠A̸̖̩̾̀̈́̂͗̎͑͛̎͐̒͠Ṃ̶̱̙͕͔̩͕͌̐̿̏̾̍̕͘͘͘͝.̷̨̗̙͛́̽̍́̍͛̄̃̈́̽́͝ ̵̨̟̪̥̗͔̦̮̀̈́̿̋̈̀͊͜I̶̝͚̍͌͆̓̅̒͆̈́̒̔͠ ̵̢͇͍͇̬̟͑̔̀̈́À̶̘̠̜̫̫̝͖̅̚M̷̭̏̂́̈́̾̅̇ ̶̡͔̞̹̫͎̹̼͓̑͊͆̃̅̋͛͑͐̀̽̈́̉͋͜T̶̛̗̍́̊̋̽̂̂̀̈́̔́͝H̵̱͆̊́̈́̿̃̓̒͑̚̕͠͝Ĕ̷͖̺͍̭̟͎̫̱͑̏̀̂̔̓̎̈͘ͅͅͅ ̴̡̱̥͍̳̰̥͉̲̙̩͛́̈́͗̃̆̑̍̎͌̆̋̆̆̚͜F̸̟̫̬̰͓͙̘̘̆̿͒̎͆̿͌̇̌̋͘I̴̪̗̩̫̠͙͓͑̽E̴̡͙̺̥͚̗̺̮̹͙̦͑̓̉̑̓͐̋̾̈́̎́͛͌̑͜͠N̷̢̛͉̝̘͕̪̻̘̺̯̼͔͖͓͍͑̐̔͝Ḏ̴̘̱̈̅̍́͜͠ͅ ̴̛̜̱͉̪̻̘̖̰̄͐̈́̈́͐͛̾̌͑̉Ơ̵̧̮̩̩̼̠̣̣͉̮̙̲̤̍̆̄̉̽̋̓̿͆F̴̧̨̱̩̙̫̣̹̏̆͌̈́ ̴̘̦͖͉̮̓̇̂̉͝͠Ả̶̦͓̳̠̝̼̆͐̅̈́ ̸̢̪̙̖͑̾̈́̒̉̇̊̋͒͛̂̇̕̚Ț̷̢̡̘̥̦͔͚̠̉Ḧ̴͚̳̩̘̮̠͇̩̟͎̰̟̭͈̝̉̍́̋͑͋̄̆̏͌͝͝Ȍ̷̙͚͋̓̐́̀̆̇͑̿Ṵ̴̡̨̨̭͈̤̪̠̬̻̑̈̌̈́̀̊̔̅̈́́̃̾̀ͅS̷̳̹̘͍̆͌̅̂̀̚Ḁ̶̥̤̊͂̿͛̈͑̄͋̓͌̋̿̀̕͝N̷̙̼̜͒̏̔͊Ḑ̸̨͍̼̘̟͇̩̦̟͗̄͒̿̏͒̇̑̾͐ ̷͖̪͎̤̒F̷̢̩͚̮̻̝̣͒͒̒́̓̾̈́͐̆͑̈́̐̏͝Ä̷̧̡̛̝̝̗̠͈͉̟͎̬͍̠̦̭́͗̉̆͑̅̉̾̑͌͒̌͝͝C̴̯̪̘̭̯̟̮͕̝͌̈̽ͅE̸͔̺͌̌̃̌́́͘S̷̨͉̜͚̩͍͍͓͓͒̔̒̇̉̊͐͌̾̚͝͝.̶̜̥̫͉̤̱͎͎̐̍͊̎̇̃̂̔̿̄͜͝ ̶̼̩̰́́̇̀̔̎̃Ṃ̵̡̠͖̫͈͔͉̮̹̯̿̀̾̃̿Y̶͍͖̹̻̲̱̺̼̤̱̅̈́̈́͐ ̸̢̛̫͓͇̹̯̃̄̈́͛̎̎͒͜Ḑ̸̡̻̻̺̮̻͕̹̭̞͉̹̉́R̸͓̝̫̱̣̫̮͙̂̽̒͑̈͋̕̕̕E̸̡̖̲͎̦͚̠̠̼̟̊̅̐̏͐̅̈́̚̕ͅA̸̧̖͓̗̣͈̩̦̽̎͐̏̈́͐̽̚̚M̵̻̮̗͂̑̒̅̉̃͆̒͌̀̾̃̚͠͝Ḯ̶͇̞̝̦̩͕̘͍͔̼̼̈́̎N̶̜̬͒Ģ̵̱͇̟͙̣̗̦͍̯̣͙͈̈̌̍̓́̈́̔͛̒̓͂́́͠ ̴̢̨̱͉͖̙̖́͂̉̉̈́͌̽̉͊̓̅̕̚͠͠E̷̤̱̠̩͑̆͌ͅN̷̹̤̂̃̀̇̏͐̔̂̂̅̈́̈̆̌͠D̸̰̣̙̯͇̥̰̲̜̘̗̮̟̦͇̈́͋̂͝S̶̨͖͙͕͕̣͇͛̍̃͝ͅ.̸̟̬̗͎̙̦͗́͒͑͐͆͠͝ͅ ̷̱͍̞̰̦͒̃̉̈́̓̋͆Ỹ̴̢̝̤̞͔͙̂͋̾̋̀́́̍̽̓͘͝͠Ö̵̧̨̥̺͔̭͖̼̞͙̠͈́͌́͆̃̏̇͜ͅͅŲ̵̮̹̿̈́͐̄͂̏͌̓̏͋̌R̸̢̡̛̪̙̼̓͐̃͛͊͜͝ ̴̟̗͓̤͇̏͑͋̌̈̅̚͝ͅŃ̴͎̼̻̗͚̅̊͗͑̀͋̍̍͠͝I̷̟̿̒G̶̢̡̺̘͈̣͚̝͊̊̓͋͂͒̒͌͐̀͒͘̕͝͠Ḥ̵̩͗͒̆͆̏̈̔̃T̶̢̨̛̬̙̩͓̣̺͕̙̈́̿͆͂̐͐̄̇̂͝M̶̞̗̤͍̺͚̣͍̖͙̜͗̑͆̈́̏̓͆̚͠͝A̴̧͙̞͓̰͙͕̻̞̞̹̬̬̗̍̾̋͌͊̉̌͒̀̇̓͗͋̐̌R̵̮̈́̒͠Ȩ̵͔͎̖̹̬̣̳̟̒͜ ̷̢̡͉̙̪̦̳͓͍͖̹̼̱͜͝ͅB̵̡̛͈̔̏̒̉̽̇͐̓̇̕͜͠E̵̞̎̈́̎͌́͑̕͠G̶̜̃̌͌̎̒̐͛̒͗̍͌͠ͅḮ̵̠͚͔͛̑̀́̆͂̆͒͂̓͘͝ͅN̷̹̘͈̳͕͖̹̩͇̎͗͂͋̓̇̌̐̈́̉͊S̵̛̰̞͔͕̹̱͔̳̯̬̜͇̝̟̒̂͒͝.̴̧̢̝̞̬̟̥̣͚̤̲͇̟̟͍͆́̆̋͑̊̒͗̎̐͠͝"

For the first time since being dragged into this place which was not a place, Hamasaki Tsubasa spoke. His words emerged as pained half-grunts. His vocalizations were strained, as if Voidwalker hadn't utilized his vocal cords in millennia.

"Nsoth, Fiend of a Thousand Faces... I... I am here to _bargain_."

"Ỳ̵̧̧͉̜͈̠͚̻̞͔͚̲̘̭̳́̆̆͋̄̓̑̃̀͝O̷̜͉̹͌̀̊͜Ǔ̷̫̤̤͚̖̺̮͚̭̗͔̘̯̍̄̀̌̎̎̽͌̋͘͘̕͜'̶͉͙̠̂̔͑̿͘͘V̷̧̬̮̗͔̺͕̠͉̓͂͌̆̾͑Ę̶̡̜̺̪̭̗̠̥̞͍̻͛͂̈́̒̽̄̎͑͠ ̵̨̢̡̛͖̬͎͉̯̖͈̜̥̰̲̳̀͌͋̓̈̿͆͘͘͘Ņ̸̘͇̟̳͇͈̠̩̎̐̓̇̈̒̈́̊̄͠Ó̷͇̫̙̙͓̐͛̓T̴̛̪̭̆́̌̽̈́́̐̀̈́͗H̸̢̯̘͉̲̥͎̦̣̫̙͓̩̘͂̔͛̑̉̚I̸̢̩̮͔̮͍̣̐͜Ǹ̷̟̥̬̻̪͚̪̜̟̬̝͘Ḡ̸͙͕̻̥̇͑̈̓̉̓ͅ ̵̹͚̼̦̎́̐̋ͅT̸̡̞͕̪͓̾̀̇̽̂͌̓́̿͆̈́ͅO̴̲̲̝͍̫̞̫̠̠̤͊̒̽̈͋̀̐ ̴̨͙̮́̕B̴͉̗̭̻̖̬̖̩̦̟͉̄̌͜͝Ä̶̞͑̓͌̿̅̒̀̈́̚͝Ȓ̶̹͍̈́Ǵ̷̭̻̣̗̎̏̋́A̶̛̟͉̞̤̭̭͇̦̿͑̀͌̈͑̏̆̀͊̉͘͝ͅI̷̛͉̝̓̋̓̐̈́̈̚͘N̵̢̻̦͈͇̙̫͚̹̳̲͙͕̣͊̃̆͆̓͋̈́̈́̑̈͂̕͜͝͝ ̸̨̡̙̘̯̮̮̬͔̫̬̮̰̣̬̐͗̈́̑̾̄̊̊͆͛̂̃̚Ẅ̶̢̛́̇̔̋̆̂̔̐̀I̶̛͍͓̙̙͑̉̆̈́̓͜T̶̰͕̰̟̻͎̠̰̩̑̉̎͂͆̄͂̎̅̂̈́̈́̄͒͝H̷̢̛̥̜̥͖͓̙̻͉̗͔͔̑͊̈́͋͒̇͑͘͘͜.̴̡̞̝̦͈̦̖͎̺̝̭̇̐̊̈́͒́͠ͅ ̸̬̹́́̀̒̃̑̀̈͋͌̅̆͆ͅŸ̷͈̥̤̻̞̿̈́̒̕ͅO̷̜͎̼̗͑̐͛͗̏̄̃̾̾̆̀̚U̶̡̥͕͉̬͔̟͕̝͈̜̺̤̩̎̊̌̓̉̈͗̈́̐̒̏̒͘͝ ̵̢̧̮̫͚͎̪̣̝̼̬̦̦̙̿̊̓̏ͅM̷̧̧͎̞̹͇͍̼͍̠͇̤̝̑̈́̽̇̃̊̊̌̊͑A̸̢̧̲̼̬̮̠͙͚̘͎͓̘͇͌́͝͝Y̷͉̞̮̗̱̆͋ ̴͚͖̐̄̾͛̽̎̈̈̑́̋͝O̷̧̞̼̱͙̞̠̞̱̺̠̱̍͗̎̇̑̈́̋͆͌́̚N̶̨̩̲͔̗̼̙͙͍̭̟̹̼̍ͅĻ̸̡̲̲̩͎͖̲͍̼͚̲̐̊̋́̑̅̀̿͘͘͝Y̴̧̩͔̞̫̎̿̅͗̽̋͐̌̓͑͜͠ ̴̡̢̖̰̲̱̠̝̯͖̥̒͗̐͂͒͌̉̽̊͒̀̾͘B̴̨̨̖͔͚̅̊͊̈͘͝E̷̡̱̣̤̹͗͌͒̀̈́͑̐̕͜͠Ğ̵̦͎͚̃̀̑͠͝ͅ.̴̨̠̱̥̰̰̤̘̞̩̖̝̖̞̰͗̔̃͑̂"

Indeed. Hamasaki Tsubasa could admit that much.

"I've never been one for begging. Correct or otherwise, Nsoth, I'm here to bargain. I may have nothing to bargain with, that's true. I won't bargain traditionally. I'll bargain with a game of question and response."

"̴̨̡̬͍͎͕̮̙̙̯͖̗̝͚͗͊̈́̽͗̑͊̃̆̕͠͠Ȃ̷̡͓̦̆͑̋͑͌̆͠ ̶̺̺̦̇́̈́̾͛̓̄̓͌̚Ģ̴̧͔̼̬̦̥̫̝̫͒̓͊͒͛̍͌͗͌͗̋͠A̸̡͓͖̱͕̬͕͔̩̭̺̟͂͐̄̌̈́̎̓̾Ḿ̸̯͍̯̂͊͆̍͝E̸̳͂̑͜͝ ̸̡̪̼͚̣̠͗̏͛͒́̀̄͜Y̴̨̫̞̙͍̮̖̽̒̅̒̒̎͑̆͗Ȍ̵̡̡̨̩̪̮̞̟̱͒͒̓̋̓̊̕U̶̥̗̬̫̿̊̍͑ ̶̢̡̢̹͈̗͍̙̭̙͐̑̉͑̾͊̌̑͆͌͜͝W̶̡͍̮̭͔̘̖͍̱̝̮̗̤̫͒͌̂̏̈́̋̏͘̕͠͝͝Ỉ̷̢̦͓̖̻͇͈̖̞̬̽͂̀̍̓̚L̴͈̅̂͂́̐̊͌L̵̢̢̗͈͔̞̱̟̱̹͎͉̪͕͎̅͛̍̋̓̊̆̂̇ ̷̧̨̛̛͈̖̫̮̜̭̹̥̤͍̤̮͛̎͑́̓̆̿̏͋ͅN̷̢͉̜̻̖̐̆̓͗̈́̇̈́̆̾͂̐́͝Ö̵̬̣̂̅̔̿ͅT̶͎̗̦̙͓̓̇̒̔͒̀͗͜͝ ̴̛̛̲̼̠̱̊̿̽̑͒̀̑͐͛͗́͛͝Ŵ̶̛̘̙͖̱͙͓̺̭̥̟̲͕̺̌́͛̒̓̍̽͛̈̽̍̂̌Ḯ̴̤̱͖͕N̴̞͂̎̏̐̾̏̾̕͝.̸̨̛̞͍̳̖͙̺̥̞͂̅ͅ"̷̨̜̟̮̦̤͚̫̩͐̑͆̏̑̈̆̈͘

"Maybe not."

Still huddled there, Hamasaki Tsubasa smirked, slightly. Whether born of mania or genuine mirth, even he didn't know for certain.

"I'll begin. "In the beginning, I move on four legs. In my prime, I move on two. In my twilight, I move on three. In the end, I move no longer. What am I, Nsoth, Fiend of a Thousand Faces?"

"̵̡̹̼̮̲͓̦̣̜̯̫̞̐͆H̵̟̽̃U̸͚̬̫̣͙̜̞̝̥̓̄M̴̗̔̈́͛̎A̷̟͓̘̜̞̼̻̩̪͉̔́̔̊͒͗̇̒̈̏̃͒̚̕͜Ñ̶̡͇͕̥̖̜̪͙̹̼̎̎̔̎̌̉̄̀̓̔̎̒̚.̸̨̧̧̢͖̻͓̠̯̥̲͍̳̓̌̃̌"̵̥̺̟̝̐̿̈́͒̇͘

"Wrong. I'm a Magic God. What does a Magic God do once they've transcended their mortality through mastery of the arcane arts? They ascend. They seek out their one true home, where their fellows await their arrival. They _move_ no longer, because there's just no _ground_ to walk upon where Magic Gods dwell. I've won our game of question and response. Now, we bargain."

It stared at him for all of a few moments. Those puss-filled eyes which protruded from the infected walls of Windsor Castle turned their attention to him, as well. They stared, unblinking. Even as their lids twitched, those eyes did not break their staring.

Then, it thrashed. With all its might, this emanation of the Old God Nsoth thrashed about. Each and every innumerable, fanged maw that protruded awkwardly from its mottled hide shrieked at once.

Coming from behind, Hamasaki Tsubasa never could have seen it. He never could have predicted it. He could not have moved quickly enough to sidestep it. Even if he could have known, there was, simply put, a zero percent chance that he could have avoided it.

Hundreds of jagged spike-like growths forcibly broke outwards from beneath Voidwalker's skin. His face, his arms, his legs, his chest. It was if every single cell in his body had suddenly mutated and developed into a massive, elongated spike of crackling void energies.

Hamasaki Tsubasa died.

But not for the first time, and not for the last time.

The ruined dance hall of Windsor Castle was not merely left behind; it _melted_. All things melted away like the wax of a candle with its wick set aflame, dripping.

"̸̥̺̘̰͌̊̈Y̷̡̺͓̭̠̮͍͖̪̖͕͉̟̺̎͝O̷̯̘͆̈́̇̍̈́͋Ú̶̪͋̈́ ̶̨̢̨̡͙͎̠̼̥͉̳͍͙̮̒̽̆̌͋̉̍͐̚͜͠Ċ̶̡̡̛͚͕̗͉̬̮͎͓͖̺͆̋̈́͂̽̽̎͛́̈̌̚͜͝H̴̡̧̡̼̺̪̦̯̦͙̼̫̙̊̊ͅÊ̶͔̋̎͛̌̽̈́͌̽̒̕͠͠À̷͕̘̮͛̈́̈́͆͗̋͒́̿̚͝͠T̴̢̨̛̬̲̭̱̮̮̝͙̝͐̂̾͆̈͐̐͛̅̀̈́͊̕!̸͉̩̱̗̰̞͔̲͚̓͆̌͛̀ͅ"̶̝̮̙̻̌̾̄͐̈́̏͆̓͒̓͝

Voidwalker returned to his namesake, that which he knew well enough; the Void. The true Void. Not a horrific vision of a location on planet Earth, whether past, present or future Hamasaki Tsubasa couldn't have known, with his mind in its fractured state.

The Old God Nsoth had let him go. More accurately, perhaps, it had thrown him out. Tossed from the Void's appropriation of Windsor Castle like an unwanted guest, Hamasaki Tsubasa, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper was left to wander, alone once more.

" _That wasn't even really **it**. That was... It was an **emanation** of its **power**."_

Was that Windsor Castle's TRUE purpose, then? To act as a prison for an Old God? Locked deep beneath the Earth in some sprawling subterranean complex from a time before time, from hundreds of millions of fathoms, was Nsoth _there_? Maybe, that which the world knew as 'Windsor Castle' was simply the 'prison lobby'?

Voidwalker shook his head, as if he needed to do so in order to catalogue his mind's warping, flashing thoughts. Still reeling from the spiritual and mental attack he had suffered through, Tsubasa stumbled upon the vast orb he stood.

Was _this_ **level six**? He couldn't have known. It seemed as if there was much he couldn't know, or didn't want to know.

" _Omnitron dictated it. Six hundred and seventy-five level four Voidwalkers would have to die in order for the original to achieve a Level Six Shift. Is this it? Is this level six...?"_

His scattered thoughts and fractured psyche made performing even the most simple of calculations exceedingly difficult. Inputting the numbers into his Personal Reality, once a relatively simple task, had become akin to juggling hundreds of diabolos at once.

 **Why** had he been dragged here? For what purpose had Hamasaki Tsubasa been pulled from his own world and into this non-world? This Void. This place that was not a place, where dreams died and hope was violently suffocated, kicking and thrashing until it moved no more.

Drip, drip, drip.

Dripping along the nap of his neck, upon the crown of his head, onto his hands, there was dripping. As if he'd stepped out from a building and into the open streets of Academy City on a rainy afternoon.

It couldn't rain in the Void; the Void had no atmosphere. No water. No clouds, no sky. Nothing.

Hamasaki Tsubasa looked downward, examining himself. He half-expected to see several 'new' limbs jutting out from his body. No spikes. No limbs. He _seemed_ completely unharmed.

In the absence of light, there was no shadow. There was no looming darkness to warn Voidwalker of that which lurked just behind him, just above him.

He spun on his heel to meet it.

The colossal, gnashing teeth. The hideous, snapping jaws. It was black, bubbling sludge-like liquid that dripped upon him. Nsoth's greatest, gargantuan maw opened impossibly wide – was it large enough to swallow an entire universe? Or hardly large enough to chomp on an acorn? - and devoured Tsubasa whole.

Jutting, sharpened fangs, elongated and pallid bit into his flesh, pierced his bones, tore his tendons. Voidwalker could just barely utter a shrill, childlike scream as his internal organs were _sucked_ from his body.

Hamasaki Tsubasa died. Not for the first time. Not for the last time.

"̸̹͑͆̿́̈́̆̓͂̈̾͛͊̌̕J̶̼̌͆̏̈́̉͐̾̂̏͆̕̚̚͝͝Ủ̵̡̨͕̥̗̹̘̹̪͚̭͓̊̽̑́̓̓̈͑̅͘͝S̴͙͍͇͐͗̈́T̵̢͍̟͚̖̯̯̻̼̙̘͎͑̇ ̸̧̡̦͇͍̥͓͓̞̤͇̼̟̪̀̾̍̅̅̄̃̉̑̏̋͝B̶̰͚̬͉̝̉̊̓̈́̊̚͝R̵̨̢̛̙̟̘̪͛̍̈́͊̉͗͊̑Ẻ̸̹̖̭̻͍̦̙̆̃Á̷̡̖̖̳̪͚͙͖̋͌͝ͅK̷̫͎̅̃̉́̑.̷̢̡͉̙̪͉̗̮̜̙̏̐͠"̵̛̳̼̒̓̅̋̑̎́̈͘͝

The Old God was not done with him. It hadn't had its fill, yet; it sought to mete out further punishment.

"̶̡̰͔̖̠͍͊̋̔̑̀͠Y̵̯̘͙̰̫̿̓̌͛̓̽͐́̍̃̚̕̚͠͝O̴̫̲̪̪̯͓̠̠̥̥͛͐̂̀̍̚Ư̴̳͆͒͊͛͋̌͐̈̌̐̆̄̕͘ ̸̛̘̜̬̩̱͖̒͒̿͗̎̄̿͋͊͒S̴̨̲̼̭̓͋̇͠Ḙ̸̖̹̪̲͉̻͕̄͋͗͘Ë̷̦͇̎̌͗͜͠Ķ̴͈͕̥͔̩̜͓̭̬̈̂̓̈́̉͑̕͜͝ ̶̧̨̡͔̯͈̰̟̖̮̰͕͈̫̉͂̌͋̔̎O̸̠̒̔̆̽̓͗̿̋̀̍̓̇̔͝͠Ú̸͕̙̻͍͖̼̱͐͊͆͜Ȑ̸̹̑́̈̌̄͐̌͆̚ ̶̡̛̟̗͓̺̻̞͈͕̜̆̑́̽̉͠P̵̢̱̺͇̝̙̔͘Ǫ̷̗̙͖̼̜̱̪̻͔̗͈̱̫͗̒̈̀̌͌̌̀̂̀͛̚W̸̬͎̞̦͛͆̆̌̏̀̐́̾̆̈́͜͠Ë̵̼̤͍͇̹̙͎̭́͒̅̃͘R̷̖̲̄͌͝?̸̡̡͉̟̝̳͓͚͕̙͔̓́̕̚͘͜ ̸͖͚̮͓͕͕̒́̀̒̋̌̓͠͝Y̷̤̰̐̑̐̍͛̈̕̚Ỡ̶̦̗̫̲͍͙̣͙͉͐͌͐͒̈́̈́̾͗̽̓̕̕͝Ų̴͕̝̎̈́̑̅͆͗͘ ̷̨̛̱̳̣͈̻͊̿͑͒̃͒͝ͅA̷͍̜̔̽͗̾̍͆͆̌͛͌̕͘R̸̢̠͉̟̘͙͍̥͇̪̰̝̲̍͋͆̔Ë̵̛͕̫̖̙̝̦̲̞̰̗͕́̈̽̾̈̂͋̀͋ͅ ̸̙̝̼̹͕̖̼͎̲͈̻͉̍͑͐̇͆́̈́͋̈́͋̕͘͝͝N̸̨̠͔̖̲̹̼͓̍͊̅͂̈́͠͠ͅO̴̻͓̮̺͕̯̪̞͇̹̹̘͒͐̈́́́̉̎̂̐͂T̶̡̐̒̊̾͛̐̀͑͑͘ ̵̲͗̽̀̎̂̽̚W̷͚̗̘̬̠̻̘͍̿̏͊̂̑͑̍̊͒͝Ô̶̢̧̫̜͙̩͍͍͉̘̦̟̽̌̀̏̓̈́̈́̆̈́̐̽͘R̸͈͚͕̞̞̮͍͙̺͎̮̣̰͒͆͑̇͒͛̈́͘̕͠T̵̝̯͙̞̈́̈́̊͒́̿H̶̯̟̭̮͐Y̵̢̨̧͉̩̹̥̹̣͎̟͔̭͛̇͒̑́̋?̵̢͍̙̺̹̿̂̑ ̵̲͔͓͎̪̭̥̙̺͕͔̙̉͐͐̌̈̋̓͋̅̃̇̔͘͜Y̵̛̫̦̤͓̥͙̒̀͗̈́̔̏̆̔̽̆̾ͅÓ̴̮̗̤̲̚U̸̡̫͙̹͎̓͊͑͑̎̎̍͘̕ ̴̡̢̹̝̬͈͎̣̠͓̅̈́͊͜͜ͅÄ̵̧̜̙̺̞̩͉̬́̐̿͜ͅŖ̴̧̳̮̣̺̭͙̲̺̬̠͌̀̿̐͋̐̀̔͋̈́Ě̴͕̜͎̤͎̎̿̌͋̒͒̇̚͜ ̴͓̈́̉͗̑̾̌̄̆N̶͇̗̰̳̜̲͚̏̒̃̑͆͂̍̚͠͝O̷̢̡̲̳͍͚̗͓̙̞̬͕̬̪̓̆͂͗͑͋̓͘͝T̷̼̬͙͓̆̉̎̈́̎̓ ̸͇͉̭̰̮͇̂͒́͂̎͛̑̓̉̎̿̀̋̚͠Ẁ̷̛̖̥̔̊̀̅̏́͂̚͘͠͝Ơ̴̱̔̈̅͒̓̀̽̇̔̍̈̀̀Ȓ̵̼̩̹̖̲̋͆̆͑̐͐̅̒̄͒̆̕T̶̙̮̣͙̳̪̣͍͓̰͂ͅH̶̨̢̡̙̹̙̥̲͕͆̓̐̀̋̃̇͒̾͋̉͆̿̎ͅY̴̧̧̫̼̘̠̥̺̠̩̻̔͋̽͛̿̎͊̑͜͜ ̷̩̭̫̪̯̥̺̗͕͚̱̻̜̺̆̈́̏̂̀͑͋̏̆̊̉͆̒͝Ȍ̶̹̮̂͛͒̉̑̒F̴̧̢̥͕̥͔̺̩̹̙̳́̂̅ ̴̼̬̦̪̪͔́̾̋̇̿̈̅͆̑͋ͅU̴̢̢̦̜͙̇͊̉̚S̶̻̬͓͇͍̞͈͎͚̪͖̗̼̈́̈̾̊̀̑̊̀͊̂̂͐̚.̸̢̛̜͉̩͔͙̼̒͑͆̑̏̓̈́̈͒̏͠͠ ̵̨̢̩͉̞͙͎̩̭͉̼̲̘͉͗̍͆́̐̾̔̽̋̽͆̀̕͘Ẇ̶̧̛͎͍̩͖̖̟͕̖͕͖̹̱͋̔͂̅͊̽̉͠͠E̶̙̎̐̓̃̎̔̓̇̌̄̾͌͐͠ ̷̡͍͓͓̅̕ͅR̴̡̮̖̜̼̲̗̫͈͉͕̊̓͒Ȩ̸̡̯̣͚̙͇͎̬͙̥͓̰͛͌̒̽̒̽̄͜J̵̡͎̣̪͔̲̞̙͙̩̦̻̙́̏̈̿̏͘Ẽ̶̢͇͉̳͕͔̒̂̃̏̉̉́̓̾̋͘͠C̸̡͓͙̺̝̩̙͙͐͑T̸̡̙͓̦̠̖͇̖͇̪̬̣̹͖̂̊̑ ̶̡̛̛̗̤͙̥̼̽̈́̆̂͊̃̀́̈́̆̆͘͝Y̶̧̘̗̼̮͈̮̫̞̺̻͑͗̈̃̃̂̽̈́̄͝͝O̷̘̲̗̼̪͍͒Û̵̼̺̤̙͇͜͝ͅ.̵͇̮̥̘̠̱̭̹̖̫̖̦̩̐̋̏͐̿̍̉͌ ̴̥̬͕̲̲̋͑̈́͋͋͑͜W̴̛̹͉̆̔̀͐̇́̾̑͌͋̍̈́͆̚Ë̶͚̞́̇̍͌́͐̓͒̊̊̈̓̈͠ͅͅ ̶̧̢̢̙̗̫̭͓̦̗̖̟̔̓̿̃̀̇͌̈́̋̔D̵̬̥͖̣̦̟̜͆͑̓̐̄͘͠Ě̴̤͖͖̪̻̭̳̥̪̝̩̠̞͎́̑͂̃̄̒̄̔Ņ̸̛̗͋̄̈̽̐͐̓̀̐͠Y̶̛͈̬͙͍̞̜̪̱͎̍͗͗̉̉̄̑̐̒̋͘͠ͅ ̸̧̛̜̥͒̔̌̀̇̈́́̎͗̾͒͐͜͠͠Ỷ̶̨̡̢͓̖̜͕͉̗̯̦̘̀̈́̽͋̉̕͜͝͠ͅỜ̴͙̥̏͊̂͌͆̈́͐͗̉̒̕U̶̲̙̜̻͈̱̗͎̱̱̠̩͉̬̅̓͊́̊͑͒̈̕.̷̢̻̲̟͖̽͌̆ ̶̨̨͕̼̗͖́̽̑̏͋̏͛͊̄͑͋͌̈́̆ͅW̵̨̗̤̪͕̳̬͖͖̹̙͙͕̜͇͒̄̃̃̐̇̕̕͝Ě̸̫̳͔͚ ̶̨̛͕̙̳̞͍̩̤̼̹͙̫̖̯͉̀͂̋͑̏̍̇͗̄́̚Ẅ̶̧̱̳̮͈̬̖͚͚͎̖̭́̇́̈̄͑̀Ǐ̷̧̡̗̹̩̮̼̳͈̠̓̈́̅Ḽ̸̨̛̭̩͓̦̭͔̘͗̏̔̃̾̔͂̆͒̋Ḻ̴̝͕͙̳̺͔̙͕͙͚͖̰͇͊͊̉̔̊̀́͝ͅ ̴̡̨̫͔̙̥̬̜̪̀͜G̴̟͙͓̀̂͆̒̃͒̇̍̇͊͜I̸̛̻̙͉̫̻͖̮̼͋̾͘̚͠V̵̼͇̦͕̦̉̔͒̓̔̋̈́͊̌͘Ĕ̴̡̛̜̼͓͖̥̜̞̫͛͑̅͛̑̅͘͠ ̷̢̛̱̠̺̝̙̉͛͒̌͌͛̍Ỵ̴͂͐̓̑O̴̧̼̟̥͙̬̰̝͎̟̠̒̑͂̓̋̉͂̌̈U̶͚̫͎̥͕͊͊͘ ̸̡̡͎̯̼̺̣͚̝̄̉͑̽͗̀̎͗͌̊̈͒͊N̶̳͉̭̣̫̯̮̝̙̯̹̅Ó̸̧̱̮̹̜̼͉̦̝̂͌̍͜͝͝T̸̝̍͌̒̓̒͠͠H̷̢̼̺̩̮͚̺̭͕̊̏̿͌̊̇̓͑̈͊͜I̴̢̦͓̪̋̍̈̊̑̎͜ͅN̸̘̠͔͚̘͕̭̳̪͓̳̄͊͗́̄͑̀͌̔͜͝͝G̷̖̳̫̜̜̣̙̔̉͒̈̓̄̌̊́͘ ̸̼͑̐̔̔̔́̒͂̚̕͠M̵̢̭̻̳̿̓́̌̽́̔͗̀͌̐̃̕Ơ̵̢͉̪̯̈́͛R̶͓̣̟͕̹̱̀͊͂̒̑̏̈́̂͝͝Ê̴̢̨͉̹͓̗̩͍̦̝̟͔̹̱̂͜.̴̤̝̒̀̄͜"̸̱͖̈̄̀͐́̃̑̆

The words were incomprehensible. The countless voices, shrieking, screaming, whispering and shouting all as one in innumerable, unfathomable tongues made no sense.

Nsoth sought to drive Hamasaki Tsubasa completely and utterly mad. It was succeeding.

He lived again – or did he? – and awaited the next death with patience, with bated breaths. Regardless of his frayed psyche, his crumbling higher mind, regardless of how many times this cosmic fiend would torture him, kill him, it hardly mattered. Hamasaki Tsubasa would persevere.

"There's no dying here!" He exclaimed aloud to no one and nothing. "Keep playing your shitty games, and I'll keep coming back!"

Nsoth's emanation came from below; Hamasaki Tsubasa brought the Void itself around him, cloaking himself in it. Great bursts exploded from his hands' palms, forming into semicircular shields. The lashing, barbed tendrils of the Old God's emanation slammed into those shields with such force that they were rendered irrelevant; Tsubasa was knocked away like a tiny farmhouse ripped from its foundations by the whipping winds of a hurricane.

"̴̨̟̖͙̜͕̘̎́̈́́̏̌́̂̈́́Ÿ̷̧̟̉Ǫ̷̤̥̦̘̦͚̤̫̙̥̦̭̫̓͛̏̓͛͑̾̆̔̅̈͐̏͠Ù̷͕͕̻̹̯̜̹̟͛̈͌̈́̃̉̓͂̏̔̒͂̾̚ ̵̡̡͔͍̼̲͔͎̱͙̋́̈̈́̅̊̐͐͐̕ͅW̸̩͍͍̞̮̆͌Ḭ̵̟͆̎̎͋̃̔̑L̸͚̯͍̫͎̼̯̺̞͖͙͑́̐́͒̈́́͆̅̇ͅĻ̶̛̳͇͇̘͚̩̲̞̜͓̮̞̀̊̍̃̈́̏̋͊ ̷̡̛̲̺̻̰̱͎̝̂̂̀̍̓́͗̆̔̄̐̚F̶̦̯͔̈̉̋̏̈́̐́̓̈́̂̑͂̽̌A̸̯̞̤̠̩̤̍̈́̈́̃̐̿͋́̈͗́͠I̵̡̮̱̙͕̠̟͍͖͔͕̠̓̿̂̀̆́̾̋͐̈́͛̇̑̕̕͜L̶͎̲͌͑͗̈́̒̌̉͊́́̓̈́̅.̶̛̲͉̺͚̂̈́̊̆͆͛̃̊̍̒̈́̈͜"̷̧̨͇̝̥̭̟̖͇͗̓́̔͑͊̀̈́̊ͅ

If he had _actually_ been in the United Kingdom, deep below Windsor Castle – if that was truly where the cosmic aberration that was Nsoth was imprisoned – Tsubasa would have experienced much less in the way of good fortune. One who visited the Void as often as he knew of such things with as much confidence as the average person knew their own reflection.

For all the good his last stand had done, that feeble defensive brought Voidwalker to the same place. He reached the same ending, regardless of the 'route' he took.

Death.

The sharpened edge of a barbed tendril forced its way through his back, splitting his rib cage, piercing his heart, and emerging effortlessly out from the opposite end. Slowly, methodically, that tendril gradually rose.

Each individual barb grew, expanded, _sharpened_. Each individual barb bit deeply into Tsubasa's innards. Even as his heart had been pierced, even as globules of lifeblood were forcibly spurted from between his lips as he gurgled, choking on his own blood and bile, Hamasaki Tsubasa's knowing did not depart from him.

Even when he finally died, then was reborn without so much as a single, lasting scratch, the knowing did not leave him.

"Nsoth!" Tsubasa nearly screamed, his vocalizations manic, "death's will and grasp can't breach this Void! Stop wasting my fucking time!"

The Void shifted once more. Voidwalker toppled, falling upon his hands and his knees as this not-reality twisted, churned and warped upon itself in impossible directions. The laws of physics were repeatedly violated here, in this place that was not a place.

As the settling came, and stabilization of his vision returned to him, Hamasaki Tsubasa wished it hadn't. He wished, he pleaded mentally to himself, he silently screamed inside of his own mind and begged for blindness. Begged to be struck dumb, numb, lame, blind, and deaf.

Academy City.

No. Not Academy City. A horrific vision of Academy City.

The Void's appropriation of Windsor Castle had been little more than the beginning, it seemed.

There was no sky. There were no stars, no planets. Simply innumerable eyes. Golden-coloured, with slits for pupils, not unlike those of a cat. Feats of human architecture had been wiped from the face of Academy City; instead, there was little more than those queer, unfathomable structures that dotted the Void without limit. The cobbled walkways and brickwork roadways of Academy City were no more. There were only sprawling, vast expanses of filthy mottled flesh spewing puss and foul, stinking grease. Snapping maws rose from below, filled with elongated, dirtied fangs that cracked whenever they gnashed, clacking against one another as the innumerable, gaping maws bit at nothing.

Where the Windowless Building should have been; that looming, ever-observing structure in the heart of Academy City's seventh school district, there was only the Old God, Nsoth.

It beckoned.

Stumbling, Voidwalker approached. Though entire school districts had originally separated Tsubasa from the goal he unwittingly marched towards, space itself seemed all too happy to accommodate him. School districts were crammed against one another, flattening.

It beckoned.

Voidwalker approached.

There was nothing else to do. There was nothing. There was only hopelessness. There was only pain. There was only the end of all things. There was only finality. There was no rest, no hope, nothing. There was only the Void.

There was only Nsoth.

There were only the Old Gods.

But, was that true? There was someone _he_ was forgetting. There was someone who mattered more than all of this nonsense ever could.

 _He_ could almost hear _her_ voice. Had he realized memorized its intricacies that closely?

" _But don't forget this. I'm here for you. If you can't do it on your own, please let me know any time, okay?"_

" _You won't ever stop impressing me, will you, Ruiko? Hah. Here you are, saving my level five ass again. What a world, what a world..."_

This was the Void, wasn't it? The place which was not a place, from where he, Academy City's – the _true_ Academy City, not this horrific vision – drew his power. This world that was not a world, this was the origination of his power. The endless, infinite void energies he could effortlessly bend to his will.

Nsoth, the **Old Gods** at large, the Void was their cradle. The heart of their power.

It was Hamasaki Tsubasa's, as well.

He focused. Even as void tendrils, barbed and with jagged, piercing tips slashed at his wrists, tore through his flesh to reach his exposed tendons, even as they ripped his back apart, wrapped themselves around his spine, and **tugged** with such force that he felt his entire upper body arc backwards, bending unnaturally, Voidwalker focused.

Gathering as much power as he could, here in the Void, in the heart of **his power** to him, Hamasaki Tsubasa focused.

So close to level six.

 **So close to level six**.

Level six was not a physical state. It was a state of being, a state of mind. One could not achieve level six through simply performing a certain task so many times and then instantaneously 'levelling up' like a character in a role-playing game grinding enemies, nor could one achieve level six through forced injection of cosmic power, as that old rotting Kihara fool had attempted to do with Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun girl.

No.

They'd **all** been wrong.

Why had Aleister Crowley, the General Superintendent of Academy City allowed the number-one ranked Accelerator to keep his little tagalong 'Last Order' around? He'd known all along. **Level six**. SYSTEM. Inspiration. Desire. Personal Reality.

The power surged from him. Hamasaki Tsubasa's own tendrils ripped themselves from his back, freeing the fourth-ranked level five esper from those of the Old God, Nsoth, those which had ripped and torn his mortal body. Were there millions? Only a few dozen? It would have been impossible for any onlooker to tell.

A hideous, inhuman scream was ripped from his throat as he convulsed. Innumerable, twitching limbs began to protrude; from his shoulders, from his knees, from his hips. Stillborn and twisted, these limbs were not unlike those which he freely manifested while using his esper ability to attack a foe, or alternatively to defend himself.

He, himself, had **shifted**. This was not a full Level Six Shift. Pitch-dark like a shadow cast by gleaming sunlight, the Void had come onto him. Purple-blue orbs floated, seemingly inert within concave sockets where functioning human eyes had once sat. Arms and legs unnaturally elongated, fingers stretched and terminating in sharpened, purple-blue talons which released plumes of crackling void energies, the cosmic aberration which had once been Hamasaki Tsubasa stared up at the Old God, Nsoth.

It stared back, unreadable, unknowable.

It stared back at the pinnacle of human evolution.

The Old God, Nsoth stared at the purported 'purpose' of Academy City, the experimental supercity in the Far East, the City of Science. The crown jewel of the Great Beast 666, the Worst Magician, Aleister Crowley. The fulfilling of 'SYSTEM'.

Nsoth stared back at the closest an esper in Academy City had fundamentally come to achieving SYSTEM. To achieving **level six**.

And that which was spoke words that made no logical sense. To any outsider who could have possibly been present, these words, these refusals of logic and sanity would have been unfathomable, incomprehensible, maddening.

"̵̧̛͚̫͉̳͂͌͑̆͆̌͒̑̚ **Ṋ̶̳̩̮͆̏̋̄͊͠Ş̶̣͕̙̺̜̺͚̗̣͆̔͛̓̄̔̈́̂́̚͜Ǫ̷̛̲͙̝̰͔̥̱̿̉̃̊̃̈́̇̎́̋͘̚O̵̢̡̢̙̺̳̬͇͍̱̺̘̞̺͙͐̄̀Ơ̴̰͋͒̎̐̎̇̃̊̏͑͌͘O̵̡̻̙͎͚̱̞̭̫̦̼͔̫̗͊͋̍ͅÖ̴̩͙͖͖̻͖́̋͝͝Ỏ̸̯͚̠̳̣̬̯̠̩͕͛O̵̢̡̼̪̜̙̟͔͔̹̜͖̠̦͂̎̋̊̆̀̈̿̈́͛͌̈́̒̆ͅÒ̵͙͈̗̟̥̥̖̪̟͒̾́̀̇͆̾̉͛͜͜ͅͅO̴̡̡̹̻̪̮͉̲͙̝͙͠Ö̴̡̧̥̪̬͈̠̖̘͉̭͈͓̫́̓̿͜O̴̦͖̙̲͌̔͋͂͘͠Õ̶̢͒̊̽͐̈́̇͒͑̽̉̕͘Ȯ̵̗͋͑́̒̀̀́͐̓̈́̚͘O̴̢̗̫͎̰̅͛̊̄̍̚O̶͔̮̐̉̓̏̓͝Ỏ̴̧̪̯̌̉̕O̷̢̖̤͓͙̬̝̬̣̝̫̫͑̿͛̄̂̈́͌͒͜͠ͅO̴̝͌̆͂͒̂̊̉̕Ỏ̸͈̦͇͙̖̗̝̈́̕Ơ̸̛̝̈͑͋̄͋̆̿̀̈́̈́͘̕̚O̸̢̞͓͌̌̉Ơ̴̛̠̗̭̪͇̜̇̅́̒̐͋́̓̑̋͌͠O̴̱͙͋̎̽̒Ơ̶̱̤͖͚͇̠̌͐͊́̐̃͂̉̕Ơ̷̡̺͕̙̪͇͈̜̰͎̾̉͂̈́̆̔̿̓̀͘T̸͙͉͎̬͖̊̆̏H̵̱̞̟͇̼͚̑̒̚**!̴̳̼̭̪̾̓͛̾̂̽̊̍̂͒͊"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an ending! How will things play out from here?! Do forgive me for leaving you on the edges of your proverbial (or perhaps literal) seats.
> 
> I won't be publishing anything for quite some time; December tends to be a historically busy month for me, holiday season and all that. Decorating, shopping, not to mention actual work! I don't consider these fanworks to truly be 'work' as they're more an amusing, fun distraction than anything I take overly seriously. We're all here to just have a bit of fun sharing creative ideas, thoughts, ideas and maybe, once in a while, feelings.
> 
> Speaking of feelings, at some point I'd like to publish a Christmas-themed Lovebirds story. I'll have to try and drum up ideas. It shouldn't be all that difficult; but the 'Christmas Special' can be done very, very poorly. It's sort of a tradition! And that's a tradition I'd prefer to try and avoid. Regardless, I'm sure our favourite lovebirds can find a way to make the holiday season an interesting and romantic one with each other.
> 
> Thank you as always for your finite time. I appreciate and love you all very much, my wonderful readers.
> 
> Take care. Stay safe. Happy holidays.
> 
> \- Brosephg.


	10. Level Six Shift - IV

The _thing_ lurched forward, thrashing in place as if throwing a tantrum. Apparently having concocted a contingency plan, the Old God Nsoth's greatest maw split open. Widening unnaturally, that hideous maw, spilling out pitch-dark, bubbling liquid began to spray something. Something that was _not_ liquid.

A terrible, grey mist that quickly consumed all of this nightmarish, horrid vision of Academy City.

Nsoth breathed slow death.

The breath weapon caught Hamasaki Tsubasa by surprise; and in but a moment's time lethargy overtook him. With every passing second that he inhaled, Tsubasa grew weaker. Sank deeper into all-consuming fatigue that worked its way throughout his very veins. His eyelids became increasingly weighty, nearly impossible to hold aloft. Blinking repeatedly, Tsubasa cast his gaze this way and that, searching for anything beyond the mist.

There was nothing.

The mist had enveloped him, and there seemed to be no way out. Fatigue took hold, and for a moment's time, all Voidwalker wished to do was find a nice, quiet place to curl up and pass into an unending slumber. A slumber that would never cure this infinite fatigue.

That _thing_ was still attacking his mind. Even as it had caught him within the mist of its breath weapon it still saw fit to torment him, show him twisted vision of that which might have been, that which might come to pass, that which _had_ come to pass.

But, above all of those possibilities, there was one which remained his, and his alone. A thought Hamasaki Tsubasa could desperately cling to, as he might've clung to his mother's bosom as an infant.

" _Saten Ruiko."_

She was divorced from all of this. She was immune to this madness; she'd endured so much. She'd fought so much. She'd done so much, not only for herself, but for her dear friends; and yet, despite all of her fighting, despite all of her struggles within Academy City – a City which would never see her advance a single level, or develop a single fragment of an esper ability, so long as her name wasn't on that Parameter List – she'd always emerge on the other side, stronger. Ready for the next struggle.

" _Saten Ruiko."_

With a great, forceful shove, Hamasaki Tsubasa brought himself up from the 'ground', if it could be called that. The void tendrils emerging from his back thrust outwards in all conceivable directions, and then some. The tiring, lethargy-inducing mist was scattered. There were no winds in the Void; but that hardly mattered.

In a moment's time, Voidwalker was upon the Old God's emanation; he **shifted** further. Enormous, twitching limbs of pitch-dark void, crackling with shades of dark blue and purple burst forth from him, awkwardly jutting out where no limbs should have been. Arms sprouted from arms, legs from arms, and arms from legs. Fully-functional despite oftentimes being undeveloped, these limbs writhed until Tsubasa brought them under his control, at which point they functioned as his own four limbs did. Even those had changed in the **shift**. They'd grown further. Rapidly-blinking eyes had formed upon them, through which Tsubasa could see clearly.

The conflict shook this darkened outerverse as neither budged an inch. Wrapping its own colossal, barbed tendrils around the esper, Nsoth once more distended its lower jaw, far beyond the point at which it should have come entirely unhinged, and spewed forth a vast cloud of that paralyzing grey mist.

Freeing himself with the aid of his perpetually-mutating growths, those twitching limbs whose digits swatted at the Void hopelessly aiding his efforts, Tsubasa thrust himself into the emanation's maw.

The _thing_ that sought out pain and welcomed filth slammed those jaws shut. Its countless other maws, filled with rows of jagged, sharpened fangs gnashed at nothing as if envious of their superior.

There was nothing inside. Pitch darkness, as if Tsubasa had locked himself in a wine cellar and turned off the tiny room's only light source. This was all that greeted him, all that he had to contend with, all that he could see. Extending his own two arms outwards – apparently, those were the only two he presently had – Voidwalker felt for walls. For flesh. For something, anything.

" _I'm dead. End of the line. This is it. Is this Hell?"_

"̸̢̨̯̹͕͓̰͕͔͔̼͂̓̎́́̊̕ͅH̶̨̡̢͚͎̓̎̾̐̓̓̈́̚̚o̷͇͙̳̔̾͌͠ŵ̵͉͕̣̗͚͕̻̙̮͓͇͖̠̮̅̾͊̏͒̀̾̇̅̚͘͠ͅ ̶̢͓̟̩͕͓̖̣͕͈̹͓̝̣͍͗͂̎̇̾͋͊ġ̴̬̼̼̤̟̦̥́͑̏̎͋ỗ̵̱͜ȅ̸̜̲̯̫̅̔̈́́͝s̶͓̝̰̙̻̻̃ͅ ̸̡̨̨̢̧̩͖͚̻̦̙͚̻̰͊y̴͕̋͗o̴͎̬͓̲̪͓͙̘̺͌u̵̢̯͙͖̬̖̱͔̯͊́r̵̨̯̘̘͚͓̹̎͊͋̅̈͊̇͌̀͛̈́͋̿̉͜͠ ̶̢̛̜̟̻̮͚͇͓͋̈̍̎̅̉͝b̵̢̮̭͚͓̎̿̌̇̾̆̒̋̇̓͋̕̕͝ą̴̮͕͈̼͍̞̟̔̐͑͜͠ṟ̶̢̛̞͇͕͙̭̲͋̿̍́̄̏̑̊̄̇͜g̵̜̠̘̘̩̺̝̮̱͉̓̽́̄̋̀͑̂̏̈́̋͌̑͝ą̸̘̣̳͌̆̑͆͋į̷̨̢̡͖̲̮̼̜̹̭̠̗͗̈́͑̐̕͝͝n̸̨̨̯͙̤͓͖̜̪̪̻̭̮̣̻̈́̀̅́͝͝ḭ̷̩̬̬͓̳̦͓̳͖͚̂̄̐̈́̆͆̿̈́͐̽̑̚ͅn̴̯̪̳͍̫͆̉̉͐̇̕͝g̸̢̡̧͕̤̝̱̗̳͉͉͒̇̊̄̒͐̒̒͛̂͂̽,̷̢̲̩̥͓̱̣̫͕̜̮̌̔̀̀̈̊̄ ̶̝̥͙̰̞̱̇͆͆́̈́ͅḩ̷̛̤̮̜̲̺͉̻̥͆̾́̑̇̐u̵͙͕̹̤͚̳̪̘͉̐̒m̷̨̢̛̰̘͚͖̱͑̂̎̀̏͌͆̀̏́̀̕a̷̢̜̲̠͈͓̝̠͖̽͑̈̏͌͗͘͘n̵̲̠͙̮̟͓̺̺͎͍̙͆̓̓̏̃ͅͅ?̶̧̟̯̳̣̦̞̲͖͇̃͋͊͛̓̿̚"̴̢̦̥̦̽͐̔̉̕͝

The voice would _not_ leave him alone. Even in this darkness beyond darkness – darker than the very Void itself – Nsoth sought to attack his mind. Horrific visions passed him, in his mind's eye.

Visions of a clinic from Hell, where unspeakable crimes were committed against women who were visibly pregnant by a 'doctor' whose face was little more than a writhing mass of twisted, barbed tendrils.

Visions of war, of famine, of plague, of human suffering unimaginable. Children literally rotting in their mothers' arms. Fathers withering and dying before their families. Households reduced to smouldering ruins, entire families extinguished. Landscapes consumed by living flesh that writhed as if in pain. Great, barbed tendrils replaced every tree that ever was. Cityscapes collapsed, replaced by masses of bubbling, grease-laden, puss-spewing flesh. Unblinking, golden-coloured eyes.

Then, the past.

This was no horrific vision.

This was no illusion, no nightmare concocted by the twisted thoughts of an unimaginable, unfathomable Old God.

This was the sordid past of the Earth, of the universe. That which few texts chronicled. That which no published work spoke of. That which had been buried by historical revisionism and symbolic works of fiction, such as those found in the holy books of the Abrahamic faiths.

Hamasaki Tsubasa had been reduced to an omnipresent god-audience, viewing this foul past from on high without a body to speak of. A being of purely mental energies, Tsubasa's vision seemed to be without limits. He could cast his gaze almost anywhere.

Ironically, he sought to cast his gaze nowhere. There was nothing worth looking at, here.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, Academy City's… _Academy City_? What was _Academy City_? His vast mind, that which seemed to have become one with the very skies themselves sought the answers, but found none. He'd known something, somewhere, called Academy City, once. Where had it been? Why did it feel so important?

By utterly destroying nearly seven hundred level four Voidwalkers, mindless, unthinking clones born of the Void, by expanding his capacity for calculation, had Tsubasa somehow become _too_ intelligent? Had the level five Voidwalker expanded his mind _too_ far?

" _Saten Ruiko."_

Even there, he clung to her. The mere utterance of her name was enough to clear that fog, and end the exceedingly temporary amnesia that had come over him. Academy City, in Japan. The experimental supercity where young people lived. The supercity whose goal was to develop supernatural abilities, psychic abilities. Esper abilities. SYSTEM. **Level six**.

With that which he'd briefly lost regained – in his apparently infinite mind, Hamasaki Tsubasa quietly, mentally thanked that precious level zero girl, Saten Ruiko, as many times as he possibly could – Hamasaki Tsubasa, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper tried once more to steer his gaze away from everything, everywhere.

What few trees there were dotting these landscapes, they'd died. More accurately, perhaps, they'd been snuffed out. The blackened soil beneath them, from which their withered roots could never hope to draw a single nutrient, it _moved._ It _writhed_ as if in pain. Enormous swathes of landscape shuddered. Hilltops rose, then fell like the rhythmic breathing of a sleeping human. Like the horrific vision, but muted, somehow.

Odd structures, much akin to those that Tsubasa was familiar with in the Void dotted the hills, rolling into the distance. Some appeared to resemble colossal ziggurats; enormous, unsightly masses of vile architecture brought into the defiled world through the layering of darkened, putrid brickwork.

Others resembled towers, rising into the skies as if they sought to mock the High Heavens above with their mere presence. Crooked, leaning awkwardly to one side, these towers were oftentimes surrounded by collections of odd, misshapen structures which Tsubasa assumed to be settlements of some description. What sort of vile, un-living nightmares might have called these settlements – if that was indeed what they were – home, Voidwalker didn't particularly _want_ to know.

For as wide as Tsubasa's seemingly-endless vision could conceive, the entire _planet_ seemed to have been consumed by this cancer. Those unsightly ziggurats. The twisted towers. The nonsensical settlements whose structures, in concept alone, flew in the face of what human beings as a species knew of physics and dimensional space.

**This was a world ruled by the Old Gods.**

Was this the past? A distant future the Old God wished to show Tsubasa, to taunt him? Was this an effort to break his spirit, if not his mind?

If this _was_ an effort to break his spirit, the effort failed, in theory and in practice. Perhaps he was already too broken to be affected properly.

A part of the level five esper was fascinated by it all. By the inhuman designers' stylistic choices. By the brutalist nature of these unsightly structures; this vast, astral cancer. That same part of Tsubasa wished to explore every tower. Map out every settlement. Delve deep into those twisted ziggurats and learn what profane secrets they surely held.

Another part hated all of this, and simply wanted to return to reality. To Academy City. Academy City's so-called 'darkness' was akin to a colourful, lively child's jungle gym when compared to the overwhelming toxicity of this horrific vision.

Then, _finally_ , Tsubasa's vision caught something which hadn't been darkened, consumed, destroyed by this astral cancer. A mere strip of landscape which had not been decimated. In this mere strip, the world seemed to have healed. Full, blooming trees rose. Grasslands flowed with tall, swaying swathes of grass on which animals – _animals_ – grazed. Animals of all kingdoms and species, not dispersed into biomes by evolution. River tributaries flowed like veins through this patch of paradise, originating from a single source; a proper lake which formed from the runoff of a waterfall, danced along its merry, carefree way. Down, down, down over the face of a mountain range. A mountain formed of proper, healthy brown earth. Not the dead, petrified, darkened filth which might have been earth, at some point or another.

" _The Garden of Eden."_

How Hamasaki Tsubasa knew this, he had no clue. Had he been informed? Had he made an educated guess? His disconnected, fractured mind sought answers within itself but, predictably, found nothing of the sort. Perhaps some other time.

" _Then, where are…? There."_

The first humans to ever live. They surely had to be. Who else could it have been within the protective embrace of this paradise amidst a living hellscape? How accurate the biblical account of humanity's oldest remained to be determined.

At the very least, Tsubasa could confirm that Adam and Eve, the residents of this Garden as they were, certainly were _not_ examples of fully-evolved human beings, Homo sapiens. No. Adam and Eve were proto-humans, more akin to dull apes than the upright, proud Homo sapiens who would rise as an evolutionary pinnacle.

They were joined by creatures which Voidwalker had never before laid his eyes upon. Queer things, by any stretch of the imagination; with many darkened specks upon their form, the odd insectoid life forms, with thick, reinforced carapaces of differing colourations stood erect, each with a total of six elongated, but gracefully curled legs emerging from beneath their tall, slender bodies. Long, silky bolts of cloth dangled from their shells and from their upper torsos. Each bolt of cloth was lavender, and each was decorated with thin, golden trim.

These six limbs the insectoid creatures possessed were covered in thin, delicate little hairs; while there were not enough to completely mask their carapaces' coloration beneath, the collective was thick enough to be noticeable. All six of these curled limbs were decorated with numerous ornate bands, each of which had many carvings upon their surfaces; the letters of an unknown alphabet, and the words of a language which Voidwalker could not read. From the top of their heads there were two long, thin, singular antennae which sagged and reached the insectoid creatures' ornated midsections. Their eyes, with their golden irises and their catlike pupils glowed unnaturally as they moved about within the sockets of its gumdrop-shaped head.

Those catlike pupils. Identical to those possessed by the innumerable, puss-filled, unblinking eyes of the Old God Nsoth.

From this horrific vision, Hamasaki Tsubasa passively pulled in knowledge, understanding. As if another learned individual dictated universal truths, Voidwalker gleamed all that was simply by _being_.

Ahnk'ji. The insect-humanoids who had ruled the Earth even before _this_. They offered their aid as it was onto Adam and Eve, the first proto-humans in their Garden of Eden. The Ahnk'ji had been welcomed as honoured visitors.

In the future, these insectoids, these Ahnk'ji, would go on to give rise to the first human espers, acting as teachers, guardians and protectors of the nascent humanity.

Why?

Because they sought to atone. They sought to atone for the sins of their birth, the sins of their subjugation.

The Ahnk'ji, then, were the **offspring of the Old Gods**.

Hovering between them, burning brighter than millions of exploding suns was a great, surging orb. Perfectly round, bright golden in colouration, the shimmering shape brought light where there was none. Even if this light seemed incapable of breaching the Garden of Eden, even if it was smothered by the overwhelmingly _toxic_ darkness that existed beyond the Garden's protective barriers formed of towering, snow-topped mountain ranges, the light was present.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, a child of science, an esper who had experienced induced, forced evolution through the use of Academy City's 'Power Curriculum', he _felt_ that light. It was pure. It was loving. It was unconditionally doting, like the perfect parent from a fairytale story book.

Was this **God**?

Before further answers could be gleamed to his endless questions, Hamasaki Tsubasa was pulled from the vision.

Voidwalker witnessed, flashing by him in rapid succession, the beginning and the end. Alpha and omega. There was much, yet paradoxically, so little before the Big Bang, as it was called. The rapid expansion and subsequent unprecedented cooling of a superheated singularity that would become the vast, unquantifiable universe.

 **God** , the spark that started life. Uncreated. That which had always been. Yet, there was such vastness beyond even **God**. Cosmic abstracts, approximations of beings which represented the fundamental aspects of cosmic functions.

There was an understanding, peering at it _all_ for mere moments at a time. So much, passing at once. It was as if Hamasaki Tsubasa was strapped into a vehicle that was rushing headlong down an entirely straight, perfectly smooth paved highway at two hundred miles per hour; all things seemed to have become a blur.

There was an understanding. Tsubasa didn't blink. He didn't start. He didn't even swallow the amalgamation of saliva, phlegm and bile which had formed in his mouth, into a particularly disgusting concoction. The desire to dislodge it was plenty present; but that desire couldn't be acted upon.

The understanding was too potent.

_"Loneliness + alienation + fear + despair + self-worth ÷ mockery ÷ condemnation ÷ misunderstanding x guilt x shame x failure x judgment n=y where y=hope and n=folly love=lies life=death self=dark side._ _Whose calculations are these…? Whose…?"_

The Void had returned. No longer was Voidwalker cast into literal darkness; the Void was _something_ , at least.

" _SYSTEM refers to the achieving of a body that can exceed human constraints and perform God's calculations. It is through these calculations that humanity can gain knowledge regarding the truth of the world. Something no man has ever truly gained, no matter the circumstances."_

Those Gladio notes _had_ proved useful to root through, after all. Coverage of the Level Six Shift experiments involving that defanged 'top dog', Accelerator aside, Tsubasa's consideration of his old pastime – rooting through information he had no place even knowing about – proved useful.

And, there it was. Nsoth. The Old God. The thing's countless maws sneered down at Voidwalker as its lashing, barbed tendrils slapped at nothing. From each set of cracked, deformed lips, bubbling globules of that stinking liquid dripped.

The Old God's emanation evidently sought not to attack him further, not physically.

" _This is just an emanation. A fragment, a whisper, of Nsoth's true power. Even achieving what I achieved, I wasn't anywhere near strong enough. If Windsor Castle doesn't hold, this world is fucked. Arms tied, pinned up against the wall, raped… And this is just one Old God."_

Something felt different. No longer was Tsubasa's body a twisted mass of tendrils, twitching, malformed limbs and surging, crackling, barely-stabilized void energies. His baser existence was that which he'd returned to. Two arms, two legs, a head. A body. A human body. Even his clothing remained intact; running his fingers' tips through locks of his dirty-blonde hair, Tsubasa found it present, shaggy, barely-kempt as always.

" **YOU ARE WORTHY**."

Somehow, those words made sense. The corrupting, twisted, mind-warping words spoken by the Old God suddenly made sense. No longer did that _thing_ speak barely-comprehensible nonsense. No longer did it whisper maddening, taunting half-mutterings.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, the Voidwalker, understood it perfectly.

"And, so I say again, Nsoth… I've come to bargain."

" **YOU'VE YET NOTHING TO BARGAIN WITH. DO NOT BEG FROM ME. WORTHY… DO NOT PUSH YOUR LUCK. YOU MIGHT YET BE JUDGED."**

Nsoth remained a vaguely uncomfortable sight to look upon; certainly disgusting with its vile mottled flesh, plastered in grease. The yellowish-white puss leaking from between its countless eyes' lids did Voidwalker's perpetually-churning stomach no favours. In the present, however, Nsoth was not a sight which physically _hurt_ to witness. A key had been slid into place, a lock turned.

" _Level six…?"_

Had SYSTEM been achieved? Had he and he alone done what Accelerator failed to do? What Kakine Teitoku, the 'Spare Plan' had never been provided with the resources to do? That, of course, required Tsubasa to assume that Dark Matter could remain stable.

Would Academy City, and the horrors it inflicted every single passing second of every single day upon a population of innocent children-turned-labrats **finally** come to an end? Had Tsubasa _done it_? That remained to be seen.

" **WHAT DID YOU LEARN?** "

In earnest, Hamasaki Tsubasa spoke his peace as the Old God watched on, expectantly.

"Loneliness + alienation + fear + despair + self-worth ÷ mockery ÷ condemnation ÷ misunderstanding x guilt x shame x failure x judgment n=y where y=hope and n=folly love=lies life=death self=dark side."

It all made sense; when he 'spelled' it out in such a way, allowing his higher mind to wrap itself around each individual spoken syllable, it all made sense. With the knowledge that Tsubasa had gleamed from the vision of the Earth's distant past, where he'd witnessed the first proto-humans Adam and Eve, it all made sense.

The Old Gods were failures.

Prehistoric human espers, cerebral mutations before even the Ahnk'ji had begun to teach humanity of their latent psychic potential, who had sought to achieve SYSTEM and failed. Their bodies and minds had evidently become twisted in such a way that the Old Gods, as they were, no longer resembled humans in even passing. They had become something else. Something outside of the cycle, beyond **good** and **evil**.

Agents of madness.

Bringers of pain.

Defilers of all space and time.

Adam and Eve had not been _the first_ _ **.**_ They were _among_ the first.

It all made sense. Perhaps, that was the worst part. Voidwalker couldn't turn away and scream about how it was absurd, about how it was madness that made no logical sense; it made _all_ of the sense that anything could ever make.

"Aleister, you utter fucking _imbecile_!"

The Void bent to his whims. This lifeless, sky-less outerverse with its flashes of pitch-dark lightning, flowing multicoloured, crackling ribbons glowing shades of darkened blue and purple did as Hamasaki Tsubasa commanded.

If shifted and warped. Colossal beams of unchecked, destabilized void energies that crackled with enough wild, untamed intensity to bring about the end of several _billion_ entire dimensions surged, crashing down against the warping spatial structures. Colossal orbs and their interconnected, fleshy, shuddering bridges were reduced to less than nothing in mere moments.

Total control over an entire endless, ever-expanding realm that wasn't a realm. A place that wasn't a place. That which existed between the lines, as if space and time alike were embarrassed by its presence and sought not to acknowledge it.

" _Nobody should have this kind of power."_

To fail to achieve **level six** , SYSTEM, was to devolve into that which would come to be known as an Old God. A twisted life form that lacked a resemblance to anything from any dimension that a human being could understand.

To achieve **level six** , SYSTEM, was to realize that all of this was meaningless. There was simply nothing. It was the same understanding which God had reached with its divine, metaphysical calculations.

" _Lo_ _neliness + alienation + fear + despair + self-worth ÷ mockery ÷ condemnation ÷ misunderstanding x guilt x shame x failure x judgment n=y where y=hope and n=folly love=lies life=death self=dark side."_

Yet, God had not fallen into a fit of mania nor descended into all-consuming nihilism once it had discovered how devoid of meaning all of _this_ was. God found meaning in acting as the spark that started all possibilities, that which was responsible for the Big Bang.

Still, all of these realizations aside, Hamasaki Tsubasa had come to the same conclusion a second time.

" _Nobody should have this kind of power."_

It was definitive. That which Academy City existed for had been achieved. SYSTEM had been achieved. **Level six** had been reached. The very concept of **level five** had been left behind, abandoned, like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon as a butterfly, having undergone months of metamorphosis.

The Void, then, was Tsubasa's cocoon.

With a simple calculation – one which hardly even necessitated the usual sort of mental preparation necessary for control over the Void and its energies – Hamasaki Tsubasa departed from the darkened outerverse, leaving the Old God, Nsoth, behind. A rift in the Void itself formed, offering a glimpse of reality beyond. Academy City's seventeenth school district. That fateful switchyard. The image swam as if reflected on a small body of water's rippling waves.

Nsoth was no longer alone, however.

There were six others who had joined the Old God Nsoth at its side. Twisted and warped in their own ways, seven Old Gods were as one, there, in their Void. Mere emanations of their true power; but Tsubasa felt them. He felt each forcing their collective will outwards.

Tsubasa recognized each, despite having interacted with these disgusting, vile aberrations only passingly as the one who appropriated the power of _their_ Void for his own uses. Yet, he could not place a name to them, save for Nsoth.

The Old Gods were not wishing the newly-crowned level six esper well on his departure from _their_ Void. They weren't looking on with longing, nor with a sense of satisfaction that another human had reached _their_ level.

Their farewells were not farewells at all. The Old Gods had uttered a silent challenge. A warning. In time, they would show Hamasaki Tsubasa _their_ power. They may have failed where he'd succeeded, but this meant nothing to them. His success was an affront. An insult. There were **seven** ; and if **they** had **their** way, there would never be **eight**.

Free of the Void's grasp, Voidwalker had returned himself to reality. He'd stepped through the rift, and it closed shut behind him. Miniature tendrils lashed out at the world beyond the Void as the created rift devoured itself, finally closing shut and leaving behind not a single trace of having been at all.

"General Superintendent!"

There was no one in the switchyard. The manual labourers and foremen barking their orders had long since returned to their homes. Tsubasa's call echoed into the night.

"It's over! It's all fucking OVER! SYSTEM is complete! Now, end Academy City! Tear it all down! Your purpose is achieved! There's no point to this shithole existing anymore! I **DID** IT!"

Voidwalker wasn't particularly surprised to receive no response at all; but there didn't _have_ to be anyone physically present within the switchyard. UNDER_LINE was always present. No matter where, no matter when, UNDER_LINE would _always_ be there. Waiting. Watching. Aleister Crowley's endless eyes and ears throughout his City of Science.

UNDER_LINE had heard, and, in turn UNDER_LINE had dictated to this experimental supercity's lord and master the truth of the matter. On the numerous screens hovering around his personalized life preservation chamber like so many fussy housemaids, supported by enormous, mechanical limbs which protruded from the reinforced, heavily-wired inner walls of his sanctum, his Windowless Building, Aleister observed, quietly.

There had been that which was simply beyond his reach; but he'd had an idea. There were no means of truly confirming it, were there? Had he simply not planned this far?

The failure of the Level Six Shift Experiments conducted on the Main Plan utilizing the living remnants of the Radio Noise Project 'Sisters' had been a purposeful one. Regardless of Kamijou Touma's intervention, Aleister Crowley would have had those Experiments fail. At some point. The exact point at which those clones of the third-ranked Railgun would have been released from their existential bondage would have been entirely up to the moods and whimsies of the General Superintendent.

What would have happened if, in a fit of manic curiosity, Aleister Crowley had allowed the Main Plan to decimate all twenty-thousand Radio Noise 'Sisters'? Would those tendrils from some other, forbidden non-reality have claimed the Main Plan, only to eventually spit him back out as a changed being?

"Show me a sign, Aleister!" Voidwalker exclaimed, then. Were Hamasaki Tsubasa not in a forlorn school district which saw very little in the way of human activity during the night's hours, Crowley would have chastised his toy for throwing around his true identity so ignorantly. "Or _I'll_ show _you_ a sign."

" _A threat…? An interesting proposal."_

The level fives were not a problem to _deal_ with. There were the FIVE_OVER Modelcases. There was Useful Spider. There was Gladio and the Oculus. Aleister Crowley knew well enough that entire algorithms had been developed specifically to _deal_ with the level fives.

Yet, no such algorithms had been developed to deal with a potential **level six**. A being that, by all accounts, would be the scientific counterpart of a Magic God.

There was no need to panic. Aleister would simply pull this situation into his control, and find a way to benefit. As always he had. As he always would. The 'Worst Magician' would not be one-upped nor toyed with by one his own creations.

The fact that Voidwalker hadn't simply broken the entire multiverse simply by being _too_ powerful was a good start.

In his pocket, Hamasaki Tsubasa's personal smartphone began to vibrate. In truth, he'd forgotten that the device even existed. He'd forgotten that a lot of things existed, while in the Void, parlaying with the emanation of an Old God, seeing visions from the past, and learning the history of the entire multiverse itself in moments.

Reaching in, his fingers fiddling within the pocket of his Sakugawa High School uniform's pants, Tsubasa's shaking digits managed to clutch the smartphone in their grip. Pressing the device against the side of his face, Voidwalker found a manmade tower of multicoloured shipping containers to lean against, across from an empty stretch of railway track. There, he fell upon himself, collapsing into a heap.

"… Yeah."

"Voidwalker. To me. Use a discreet means of entry."

"Who am I speaking with?"

"The one to who you owe all, whether it be your life or your esper ability."

"Aleister fucking Crowley. Conversations with a dead man, is that what I'm having now? I'm worthy of your attention? Dark Matter would string out my guts for this. He always did like you."

"The Spare Plan has become more relevant than ever. No longer am I in a position to rely upon the Main Plan, nor is the Main Plan a continuing necessity. Come. To my sanctum. For the moment, you're worthy of my attention. Do _not_ make the mistake of presuming upon my need for you. Consider this an official summons as an active agent of Gladio."

So, _that_ was how it was going to be. Hamasaki Tsubasa chuckled, shaking his head as if reacting to a joke uttered in particularly poor taste.

"I know what'll happen if I refuse, anyways. You're nothing if not predictable. You're a glorified terrorist cell leader. Can't say much for myself, either. Not much room to speak on others."

"Don't presume that you have me figured out, Voidwalker. You cannot comprehend my mind, nor understand that which drives me. Regardless of whatever power you may have gained, borrowed or otherwise."

Before Tsubasa terminated the two-way exchange, he remarked in passing, as casually as he might've greeted a vendor proclaiming the brilliance of their wares on the street, "There's really not that much to figure out, Aleister. You're not that deep."

Whatever wrath he'd face for his unchecked verbal aggression, Hamasaki Tsubasa would face it in stride.

Once more in passing, he briefly paid mind to Saten Ruiko. How was she doing? Was she asleep? Perhaps she'd spend most of her short stay in the hospital awake. Her mind was curious, always going. The gears never really _did_ stop turning, did they? She was a girl who didn't accept answers. She needed to come to her own conclusions.

She was too smart, too kind, too honest for this horrible City.

With any luck, there wouldn't _be_ an Academy City for much longer.

" _Saten Ruiko."_


End file.
